


When I Said, "Someone Fuck Me," I Didn't Mean Life

by DisposableVillain



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alchemy, Anxiety, Asthma, Blow Job, Dates, Depression, Dissociation, Edging, Fast Sex, Gay, Heka - Freeform, Japan, M/M, Magic, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Non-binary character, Other, PTSD, Perfect, Plot With Porn, Post-Canon, Rimming, Soft sex, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Trans Male Character, Zoo, because why not, did, drunk, how to tag, magic sex, mlm, nerds, pride scene, queer, safe sex, sensory issues, sort of religion?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-08-20 10:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisposableVillain/pseuds/DisposableVillain
Summary: "This isn't a thing of you having bad mental health. This is an illness. You need to treat it right, or it just gets worse."Malik didn't teach Bakura how to love himself, but he was the bridge that helped him get there.





	1. Chapter 01 | Don't

**Hey guys! For those of you who don't know me, I'm Elliot. This fic is part of the Alchemy of Thiefshipping group that I was lucky enough to take part in, so you should definitely check out the other stories! Hope you enjoy the first chapter. I'll be updating every Wednesday.**

* * *

**CW:** Some gore (Kul Elna), anxiety, minor self-harm (scratching).

* * *

A fly buzzed around the living room's butter yellow light. Bakura huffed and swatted at it, but missed it. "Shut the fuck up."

"Leave the poor thing alone." Ryou grinned. "Don't take your anger out on it just because you're losing."

"I'm not losing." Bakura crossed his legs and leaned forward on the couch. His elbows rested on the crook of either knee, and he smashed the buttons on his controller. The fly was barely audible over the  _Mario Kart_  music, but it was still irritating.

Just as he was about to pass Ryou - okay, and  _maybe_ purposely bump him a little - a blue shell shot at them and hit them both.

"Motherfucking son of a shit-sticking cuntbubble!" Bakura snarled as his character tumbled off of the rainbow road track.

Ryou groaned but managed to stay on the track. He began driving again just as Bakura was lifted out of space, onto the road. "This is what we get for picking this road."

"It's gay," Bakura huffed, "and it's two a.m.; did you really expect us to pick anything else?"

"No." Ryou overtook two other cars and took the lead just in time to flash over the finish line.

"I fucking hate you." Bakura glared at the screen as he slid into third place, just between Bowser and Peach.

Ryou shook his head and leaned back into the couch cushions. "You knew this would happen." He took a sip of the cider in his bottle. "I always beat you at  _Mario Kart_."

"Dickhead." Bakura tossed his controller onto the table and snatched his beer. He drained the end of the can. "I can't believe I lost that. I'm meant to have gay privilege with rainbow road."

Ryou shot him with a finger. "Yeah, but Luigi is a disaster bi. Disaster bi plus gay road equals happy bi player."

"Gods." Bakura tried not to laugh. "You're such a nerd." 

"Says you!" Ryou whacked him with one of the cushions, and then stretched. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

Bakura tilted his head back. "Come on - one more game. You can pick this time."

"Maybe-" Ryou yawned and glanced at the clock. "No. No, sorry, Kura. It's nearly two, and I have work tomorrow."

Bakura folded his arms. "You work behind the counter at an arts and crafts store. How hard could it be?"

"You don't have to deal with my manager." Ryou rolled his eyes and reached over to ruffle Bakura's hair.

Bakura caught his hand. "One more game. Or an episode of something."

"Bakura-"

"Please?"

Fuck. Ryou paused and looked at him. "Are you okay?" Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why'd he say that? "There's nothing going on, right?"

Bakura looked away and raised his bottle to take another drink before remembering it was empty. "I'm fine,  _yadonushi_ ," he sighed. Ryou's jaw tightened. "I'm just bored."

"Fine." Ryou stood up. His ponytail swept over his shoulder, falling down his back. "I'll see you in the morning."

Bakura winced as he heard the door to Ryou's room slam. He squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn't have said that. He should  _not_ have said that. But he shouldn't have said please either. Fuck. Motherfucker.

He hit his head against the back of the cushions. It didn't hurt. Not the way he wanted it to- fuck. Now he had to kinkshame himself. Wait, that didn't make sense. He squinted up at the light. The fly was perched on the ceiling just behind the bulb. Memes made even less sense than he was used to them making when he was drunk.

He sighed and looked at the screen. His eyelids felt heavy - he hadn't slept properly in days. He reached up a hand to rub one of his eyes, but it only made it more itchy. And sore. He dropped his hand to find the remote. He managed to salvage it from in between the couch cushions, and turned off the television.

He needed to sleep, but his stomach was already sinking down into the growing pit of foreboding. His nails dug into the palms of his hands as he made his way towards his room - or Ryou's guest room. He didn't even have his own room, his own space. He wasn't worthy of it, wasn't worthy of what he had. He squeezed his eyes shut.

No. No, he wasn't meant to think like that. His nails dug deeper as he shouldered his way through the door, and kicked it closed behind him. The darkness welcomed him, soothed him.

It wasn't complete darkness. He had black-out blinds, but even with that, it was hard to get any room with windows completely dark in Japan. Especially Domino. The lights from the streets peeked up at his ceiling from the narrow gap between the curtains and the window, and below, he could hear the sounds of light night traffic.

Sound was really the only thing that kept him sane, that assured him he was no longer in the Ring. The Ring had been completely silent, nothingness trapping him, isolating him, his only company the voice in his head that grew more bitter with each passing second. And Zorc.

Bakura's eyes snapped shut. No. He dropped onto his bed and sank into the comforting mattress. His body ached - he hadn't noticed it until he lay down. He didn't even pull his blanket over him. He just let himself slip away.

Sleeping was something he was still becoming accustomed to, even after months of being back. Almost three years. Three thousand years of not being able to sleep had left him out of practice with the action. He wasn't used to dreaming.

The blood and fire melted the darkness beneath his eyes, the dull rumble of cars muted by screams and pleas for mercy that none would be shown that night. The gods had forsaken them.

Bakura hid behind the wall. His father died first - he was asleep, like he had been for days. His grandfather faced them as his mother tried to hide him, but the spears ripped through the man Bakura had seen as unstoppable like... he didn't even know.

His mother turned and screamed, fury dripping from her voice, scorching them. She had always been too powerful for the village. She should have been in the palace. The first few guards fell back, unprepared for her ka to spring forth. One froze solid, the other was pierced by an icy spear.

But eight or nine trapped her in a circle, and she died screaming curses at them. One of the guards walked up to the wall to look for Bakura. Bakura's eyes squeezed shut. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die.

Something warm surrounded him, hugging him. He looked up to see a pure white, scaly creature weaving around him. The guard was looking straight at him, but the creature- Diabound, the name came unbidden. Diabound was blocking him.

The guard turned away and shouted something to the others. His parents and grandfather were grabbed and dragged down the dusty road, and Diabound silently carried him out of the house. The guards had started a fire in the middle of the village - a large black pot sat atop it.

Bakura stared at them as a child, one who had teased him for his white hair, screamed and kicked in their grip. They held the child over the pot and dropped him in. He wailed for a few seconds, and then fell silent. He didn't have a face. None of them did bar his mother and the guard that almost caught him.

His mother was heaved up over the cauldron. Just as she was lowered into the boiling liquid, gold began to spill over the edge of the pot. Her eyes flashed open, she looked at Bakura, and screamed.

Bakura jolted up in the bed. Screaming filled his ears and he tried to cover them to block it out, but it wouldn't stop. His door swung open and Ryou burst into the room. "Bakura?" His eyes were wide. Bakura could almost see his mother in them.

Ryou carefully climbed onto the bed beside him and wound his arms around Bakura. The screaming stopped, and Bakura's throat burned. He. He had been screaming.

"Bakura..." Ryou rocked him gently, back and forth. A hand rubbed Bakura's back. Bakura turned and hid his face, half in Ryou's shoulder, half in his hair. "What happened?"

Bakura just shook his head. His chest heaved as he fought for breath and hot tears of gold and fire dripped down his face. "They-they-th-th-they-the-they-" He couldn't even get the single word out. Sobs wracked his body and Ryou held him closer.

Ryou's hand brushed Bakura's hair out of his face. Bakura only cried harder. His calloused hands felt so much like his mother's had in the dream, as she hugged him and kissed his nose and whispered to him that he had to stay safe and quiet. For her.

"It's okay," Ryou whispered. "You're safe."

But they're not, he wanted to scream. The only thing that he managed to force out was another choked sob. With the lack of air, it made him feel like he was going to vomit.

"What was it?" Ryou asked.

Bakura squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He fought for breath for a moment before he even tried to respond. "Gold."

* * *

"Hi there. How are you?" The potential customer didn't even look up from the box they were examining. Malik's smile became more strained. "Cool, I guess I'll just go die then," he muttered under his breath. He pushed himself up on the counter.

The museum gift shop was illuminated by bright white lights that reflected off every silver and glass shelf in the damn room. Coupled with the white walls and gleaming countertop, one hour in the shop was enough to give Malik a headache for the rest of the day.

The customer finally looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, hi." Malik gave a nod and opened his mouth to return the greeting, but she just held up the box. A marble-esque pattern in white, gold and black decorated the top of it. From the size, it was one of their jewelery boxes. "How much is this?"

Malik's eyebrows arched. The price was very, very clearly labeled in red marker on a sticker on the side of the box. "That's two hundred and ten pounds."

The woman started laughing and put the box back. "I don't suppose you ship anywhere?"

No. No, we don't, because we're a fucking museum. The words itched at the tip of Malik's tongue, but he just smiled and half-chuckled. "No, we don't unfortunately. But that's a handmade jewelery box. No two in here are the same."

The woman hummed and tapped one finger on the box. "I'll just have a little look around the rest of the museum and I'll be back."

No she wouldn't. Malik's lip curled up into a sneer as she left the shop. Twit. He settled, leaning over the counter, chin propped up on his hand. He eyed the clock. Twenty more minutes.

Gods, he fucking hated this job. He took a slow breath and forced a smile across his face as someone walked into the shop. Calm. "Hi there. How are you?"

"Not bad, thanks." The woman returned his smile and wandered between the shelves to look around. Malik practically held his breath. He needed this sale to hit his target for the day. Come on, come on.

After a few minutes, the woman emerged with a small Tutankhamen bust. Of course. Everyone wanted him. "This please," she said in English, setting the bust on the counter.

Malik rang it up for her. "That's four hundred pounds please." He took the money she handed him and passed back a receipt. "Thanks. Have a nice day."

"You too." She smiled and left the bust.

Malik let out his breath and scribbled the sale onto his commission sheet. He had to stop his nerves acting up whenever a customer came in. He knew what to say, he knew how to work the till, everything was priced. There was nothing to be anxious about.

He ran a hand through his hair, and looked at the clock. Ten minutes. Fuck it. He began to tidy the shop, and at six, when no one else was in the vicinity, he shut and locked the doors.

He handed the keys in to security, and made his way up to Ishizu's office. He knocked before walking in. His sister looked up from a binder in front of her and smiled. "Is it time already?"

Already? Malik had been watching the clock for two hours. "Yeah." He walked over to the seat across from her desk and sat down. "Busy?"

"A little." Ishizu rubbed her forehead. "We have some new artifacts coming in over the next few days, so I'm just tying up loose ends on that." She closed her binder. "I can finish it in the morning anyway."

Malik had a feeling that he would catch her with the binder at home, working on it after dinner. Ishizu picked up her keys and coat and walked out to the car with him. The security gave her a smile, but their eyes passed over Malik.

When they were caught in the usual traffic, Ishizu's eyes flickered over to Malik. "How was the gift shop today?"

Malik leaned his head against the car window, eyes on the red motorbike weaving between the cars. He missed his motorbike. "The usual." He drummed his fingers on his thigh. "I was thinking about looking for a new job."

The car jolted, and Malik hit his head off the window. Whoever was behind them beeped. Ishizu raised an apologetic hand and began driving again as the light turned green. "What do you mean?" Her voice was tight. "You have a good job here, Malik. You're getting higher than minimum wage, you get paid holidays-"

"I don't like working at the museum," Malik sighed. "I've told you this before." He had - multiple times. He had told her how nervous it made him; he often got sick at the thought of going to work the next day.

Ishizu shook her head. "I don't understand."

Malik sighed and looked up at her. He was taller than her by a few inches, but he held his height in his legs, while Ishizu had a long back. "I'm not asking you to understand," he protested. "What I need you to do is listen to me."

"I'm listening." Ishizu pursed her lips. On the steering wheel, her knuckles were beginning to pale. "But that doesn't mean I have to like what I'm hearing."

Malik shook his head. "Forget it," he muttered. He shouldn't have said anything. He let his eyes slip closed. "It doesn't matter anyway. I turned in my notice last week."

The car jerked again, and Ishizu pulled up into their driveway. "You did what?"

Malik didn't want to open his eyes again. He didn't want to have to see the rage on his sister's face. But the darkness, even the one behind his eyes, made him uncomfortable. He sighed and looked up at her. "I quit. Tomorrow's my last day." His manager hadn't been all that annoyed about it either - in fact, his quitting had been treated as a relief.

Ishizu opened her mouth, and then closed it. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't understand." Malik unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. Ishizu hurried to follow him, but he just made his way into the house.

"Malik, come back here! We're not done talking about this!"

Malik stopped in the doorway. Rishid peered out from the kitchen. Malik turned to face his sister. "It feels like we are."

"Do you even have another job?" Ishizu pressed. "Have you been looking for one? You've only been working at the museum for-"

"Two years, Ishizu." Malik scowled at her. "I worked there through college, just like you wanted. Two years." He shook his head. "I can't handle it anymore. Every time I go in there, I think of him-"

"You say that like it's a bad thing-"

"For me it is!" Malik laughed and spread his arms. "I'm done. I can't handle it anymore." His eyes burned. He still hadn't forgiven the gods for making him an angry crier.

"You said your counseling was helping with this-"

"It was!" Malik swallowed. "It is, but- but that doesn't mean I can deal with the museum any longer." His counselor was part of the reason he had worked up the courage to quit.

Ishizu stared at him for a moment before knocking the door closed behind her and pushing past him. "Do whatever you want, Malik," she huffed. "I've tried to help you time and time again. It's time for you to start helping yourself."

Malik flinched as her bedroom door slammed shut. Rishid crept out of the kitchen. "I take it that you told her?" He asked.

Malik just walked into the kitchen and sank into one of the chairs. His back hurt from bending over the counter for half of the day. "Yeah." He let his head fall into his hands as Rishid followed him into the kitchen. The smell of half-finished quinoa filled the room. "I don't get how she can stand working there."

"And she doesn't get why you can't." Rishid glanced at him and began slicing tomatoes for a salad. "You know this."

"She should get it." Malik peered up at him. "I-" He swallowed and looked away again. "She should get why I hate remembering him."

"She still sees it as an honour to serve the Pharaoh." Rishid diced the remainder of the tomatoes and tossed them into the salad bowl. "You can't force her to change her mind."

Malik drew circles and triangles into the pale wooden table. "She should try to understand that I can't stand being in that museum."

"She does try." Rishid took out an onion. "Do you want this in the salad?" Malik grimaced and shook his head, so Rishid put it back. "But you're both coming from different places. She's accepted everything that's happened."

"And I haven't?"

Rishid turned and raised his eyebrows. It was odd seeing him do that - the creases reached farther up than where his hairline used to be. "Do you want me to answer that?" Malik looked away again. "You've never really come to terms with what happened, Malik." Rishid reached across the table and placed his hand on Malik's arm. "And I don't think your discomfort with the museum will ease until you do."

Malik shook his head. "But I know what I did-"

"Do you?" Rishid tilted his head. "You didn't remember a lot of it when we came back. I had to tell you what happened."

"That wasn't my fault." His darker half. That was who was at fault. It was all him.

But it wasn't. Ishizu liked to blame his darker half, but it was Malik that organised it, that tried to kill the Pharaoh.

"I know." Rishid squeezed his arm. "But I'm not sure that you  _do_ understand the full extent of what you did." Malik heaved a low sigh. "Maybe you need to go back."

Malik's head jerked up. "Are you insane?" He hissed. "They'd kill me without a second thought." Granted, the last time he had seen everyone, they'd parted on relatively civil terms, but he doubted he'd been forgiven for all that he did.

"Well I don't think you're going to find what you're looking for here." Rishid gave his arm another squeeze before standing up. "And this is something you need to sort out, Malik. For yourself."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! Please vote and comment to tell me what you thought! I'll try to reply to comments as soon as possible. See you next week!**


	2. Chapter 02 | Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry that this is a touch late - I had an essay due today and I crashed a little after it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!

******CW:**  Screaming, dissociation, anxiety attack/break down, very minor self harm (pulling hair/biting lip)

* * *

Bakura woke with a start. He must have fallen asleep at some stage, curled into Ryou. Light peeked up through the top of his blinds, illuminating the room enough that it hurt Bakura’s eyes. He grunted and rolled off his single bed - if Ryou wasn’t there, he was up and doing something. That was an indication that Bakura should also be up and doing something.

He stumbled across his floor, trying not to step on the array of wires and half-fixed electronics, and grabbed the same jeans he’d been wearing for the last few days. He yanked them on and pulled the door open as he was buttoning them up.

“Shirt,” Ryou called from the kitchen. Bakura huffed, turned around, and grabbed one of his shirts from his closet. Most of them were in the wash basket or scattered around it.

He hooked his fingers into a red one and pulled it over his head as he walked out of his room again. He made his way into the kitchen to find Ryou bent over a frying pan, a bottle of pancake mix by his side on the counter.

Ryou looked at him over his shoulder and offered a small smile. “Hey.”

 _Hey_. Bakura hated that tone. It was the same one Ryou used every time he woke up screaming, every other night. The same one, every damn morning. Bakura just grunted in response and dropped into a chair.

Ryou turned the heat on the hob down a little so the pancake wouldn’t burn and moved to sit down across from Bakura. “You feeling a bit better?”

Another grunt. Ryou knew he didn’t like to talk about his nightmares. He hadn’t said a word about them in the entire time that he had been back. Why would he start now?

“Do you want some pancakes?” A shrug. “Bacon?” Another shrug. Ryou sighed, his head dropping a little. “Bakura, I need you to help me out here.”

Bakura’s eyes flickered up to him. “How?” He hissed through his teeth. “How am I meant to help you?”

Ryou rubbed his palms together. “I don’t know. By talking to me? Telling me what you want?” He shook his head. “I can’t read your mind, Bakura. I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

Kick him out. Bakura expected Ryou to kick him out, to hurt him, to hate him. He deserved nothing less than that after what he put Ryou through. “Nothing,” he muttered. “I don’t expect you to do anything.”

“Well you obviously do.” Ryou folded his arms. “Because you slouch around the apartment without cleaning up after yourself, you never cook, you barely do your job-” Ryou swallowed as Bakura looked away. “I’m not blaming you. I know you didn’t ask to be brought back.” Bakura closed his eyes. “But I need you to tell me what you want me to do.”

Bakura leaned back in his chair and looked around the kitchen. It didn’t feel real. The pale blue cupboards, the pancake cooking in the pan, the stains on the white roof. He wasn’t meant to be there. Bakura closed his eyes. “I don’t want you to do anything,” he whispered. “Just play a game with me every now and again.” And stay up so Bakura didn’t fall asleep.

A timer buzzed, and Ryou stood up to check the pancake. He placed it on a plate and then filled the pan with mixture again. He set the plate down in front of Bakura, and handed him a knife and fork. Bakura took them but didn’t start to eat. Not yet.

Ryou gripped the handle of the pan, knuckles white, even though it sat stationary on the hob. “I think you should go to see someone,” he muttered into the pancake. Bakura’s breath caught. “A counsellor or a psychiatrist or- or something. You need to get help.”

Bakura dropped his fork onto the table. Ryou flinched at the noise. “I’m the one that needs help with your shitty dad?”

“I never said I don’t need it.” Ryou’s jaw set as if Bakura had called him landlord again. “What I’m saying is that you need help too. Bakura, you’ve hardly left the apartment in months. You got a job with Kaiba specifically so you would never need to talk to anyone at work.”

“And there’s something wrong with that?” Bakura’s lip curled up. “My apologies, love; I didn’t realise that earning treble my last wage was a bad thing. I’ll hand in my notice.”

“Don’t do that!” Ryou turned on him, eyes flashing, nose scrunched by his furrowed eyebrows. “Don’t twist my words like that. That’s not what I mean and you know it.” He had a thing about people twisting his words. “You sit and stare at the wall for hours at a time without doing anything else. You wake up screaming nearly every night and you won’t tell me what you’re dreaming about. You-” Ryou took a slow breath and sank into his seat again. “You need to talk to someone.”

Bakura’s nails dug into the palms of his hands. “What I need-” He looked up at Ryou. “-is for you to stay out of my business. I don’t need to talk to anyone, least of all some whack doctor.” He pushed away from the table.

“Where are you going?” Ryou sighed.

“Out.” He could go out if he wanted to. Fuck Ryou. Fuck everything he said. There was nothing wrong with Bakura. He stormed over to the door and yanked his boots on.

Ryou followed him to the door and leaned against the wall. “Where?”

“I don’t fucking know.” Bakura tied his laces and pulled the door open. “Eat your breakfast and go to work or something.” He stuffed the key into his pocket. “It’s not like you wanted me back either, so you shouldn’t care what happens to me.”

He saw Ryou’s eyes widen and his face pale, but slammed the door before any tears could fall. His own eyes burned. It was true. Ryou hated him, and he knew it. Everyone hated him. Everyone should hate him.

He dragged his feet as he made his way down the street. He didn’t deserve any of the help he was getting. He deserved to go back to the shadows. He squeezed his eyes shut. His throat was burning, and too tight for him to breathe. What had Ryou said to do when that happened- no, Ryou wasn’t meant to help him.

Bakura slumped into a bench and tried to control his breath. His arms seized up, too tight. It hurt to move them. Something was coming. Something was coming. He opened his eyes, looking around. Where was it? Something coming. Coming. He pressed a hand to his face. It was meant to calm him down - the touch - but his hand tensed, needed something harsher. His nails pushed his lip against his teeth and he curled in.

Too much. He was taking up too much space. It was too much.

“Hey.”

Bakura tried to react. He tried. But he was stuck - stuck in the air like that damn Priest had trapped him in something, compressing him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, are you okay?”

His heart pounded so hard he could feel his pulse in his chest. He forced himself to look up. A boy in a school uniform holding a skateboard stood in front of him. A blue uniform with a high-collared jacket.

“I’m fine,” Bakura wheezed. He still couldn’t breathe. “Just tired.”

“Do you need some water? Or have you got an inhaler?” The boy was frowning. He looked genuinely concerned.

Bakura closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m fine.” He was shaking. “Just go to school before you’re late, dumbass.”

After a moment, he heard the skateboard rolling away. He curled in on himself again and twined his fingers in his hair. He pulled his head down further. The sharp pain helped - ground him, release him, he didn’t know. But it helped. The wheeze slowly faded and he released his hair, leaning against the back of the bench. He looked up.

The sky was so dull in comparison to how it used to be, the smog clogging the air. It was warmer too. Bakura had never ventured out of Egypt, but he didn’t think this temperature fit what he had heard of other countries from slaves he had freed. He didn’t move until he had caught his breath.

He pushed himself up from the bench and looked around. He had walked farther than he thought - he must have zoned out. Again. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a slow breath. He was eight or nine blocks away. He still knew where he was. He was fine.

He looked around again, and wandered towards an internet café. He paused at the door and scowled. No wallet. Of course. He scanned the door, almost involuntarily. Ads for an English and maths tutor jumped out at him, Taekwondo and kendo classes, and then  _North East Counselling_.

Bakura looked away, and then back. It didn’t give any information but the name, the address, and a contact number. After a moment, Bakura typed the name into  _Google_. One of the best counselling services in Domino.

Slowly, he took a breath and punched the number into his phone. He rang, and it went to voicemail. That was what he got for trying to get rid of the burden the gods had given him. He stuffed his phone into his pocket again and began his walk back to the apartment.

He did his best not to zone out this time, taking note of everything near him. The shops, the trees, that one trash can that someone had spray painted a rainbow flag on. The apartment building, the stairs, the first floor, second floor, third floor, the door to Ryou’s apartment.

Bakura let out a slow breath. He was back. That was why he didn’t go out often. Why did he try again? He shook his head and unlocked the door. A muffled sob reached his ears as he walked in. Right - that was why.

Bakura closed the door quietly and crept towards the kitchen. Ryou sat at the table with the phone to his ear. “I know. I know, but- but Yugi, you didn’t see him and-” He sniffed and tried to rub his eyes dry, but he only succeeded in spreading his tears. “I just- no. No, I can’t-” He choked back another sob. “Gods, Yuugi, he just… he looked like he hated me and I- all I wanted to do was help, but I don’t know how.” He shook his head. “I know, but-” Another shake. “I can’t just do that. I’m the reason he’s back - he didn’t want to come. If I hadn’t- if I had just-” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m fine.” His voice cracked and he covered his mouth. “I need to go. I’m sorry for ringing you.”

Bakura could hear Yuugi yelling over the speaker, but Ryou pressed the end call button and let his phone drop onto the table. He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes and stood up to get a tissue.

Bakura froze as Ryou turned, wiping his eyes. Ryou’s gaze landed on him, and he tensed. “How long have you been there?” His voice was shaky.

Bakura managed to swallow. “A minute or two,” he admitted. Ryou looked away and wiped his eyes again. Are you okay? The words almost escaped Bakura’s mouth. Instead, he walked closer to Ryou and wrapped his arms around his waist. Ryou tensed slightly, but Bakura rested his forehead on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You were right,” Ryou scoffed but held him tight. His hands pressed a little too hard into Bakura’s arms. “At least partly. I shouldn’t have brought you back - I should have thought about what you wanted, or what could have happened or-”

“No.” Bakura’s head curled under Ryou’s chin. “This isn’t your fault, love.” Ryou sniffled and hid his face in Bakura’s hair. Bakura squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Ryou whispered. “I was selfish, and I should’ve- should have-” He shook his head and dried his eyes with the rolled up tissue. “I should’ve thought about what could happen.” He pulled back, and Bakura found himself craving the human contact again. Ryou forced a smile. “Do you want something to eat?”

“No. No, don’t do that.” Bakura pointed at him. “You don’t get to do that when you get mad at me for doing the same thing.” Ryou’s face fell, and Bakura lowered his hand. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, too dry to talk. “I’m not… good at this. You know that.”

Ryou leaned back against the counter. “I’m not exactly a social butterfly either.”

“Right.” Bakura scratched the back of his neck. “And… okay, look.” He took a slow breath. “Look. I didn’t- I didn’t want to hurt you, I just- I wanted to get out and-” His nails dug into the skin at the bottom of his head.

“It’s okay.” Ryou gave him a small smile. “Really. I overreacted.” He turned to the pan. “Now do you want bacon or not?”

Bakura stared at his back, trying to form the words for his argument. Ryou glanced at him over his shoulder, and Bakura slumped. “Yes please.”

“Great.” Ryou smiled again and grabbed the stick of butter. “You’re meant to be working now. You go start and I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

Again, Bakura stared for a moment, trying to draw his sentences together. After a minute, he gave up and trudged towards his room. Any arguments were just as likely to make Ryou cry again as they were to fix things - if not more so.

Bakura closed the door behind him. He made Ryou cry. His eyes squeezed shut. Gods, he fucking hated when he did that. He hadn’t done it in months. Motherfucking fuck. He rubbed at his eye. Don’t fall again. Don’t get stuck again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Maybe that kid could help him make it up to Ryou.

His thumb hovered over recent contacts. Just above Yugi and Ryou’s names was the phone number he had called for the counselling service when he was walking.

He chewed his lip. He didn’t need to talk to anyone. What could he even talk about anyway? He couldn’t exactly rock up to the place going, ‘Hi, I’m a three thousand give-or-take year-old spirit from Egypt and I saw my entire family burned alive for the ‘greater good’ when I was seven’. He turned and slowly, quietly, twisted the door handle.

He only opened his door a touch. Any more and it could creak. He could just see Ryou through the gap in the wall between the kitchen and their bedrooms. He was hunched over the frying pan. His shoulders shook, but he wasn’t sobbing. Something dripped from his chin onto the counter.

Bakura closed the door again, pushing it with his little finger so it wouldn’t make a sound. Once the doorknob was back in place, he dialled the number again.

It rang three times before someone picked up. “ _Hello, North East Counseling. How may I help you?_ ”

Bakura took a shaky breath. “I’d like to make an appointment.” His voice croaked, and his pulse was hammering I his head again.

“ _Alright, what’s your name?_ ”

“Bakura Yuuto.”

“ _Perfect. Is this your contact number?_ ”

“Yes.”

“ _Alright then, Bakura. Our next free appointment is in two days at four thirty - is that alright?_ ”

“That’s fine.”

“ _Do you have our address?_ ”

“Yeah, I know where you are.” Bakura hung up. He would sort out payment there. He glanced at the door again. If talking nonsense to someone who had no clue what he’d been through for half an hour would stop Ryou crying like that again, then fuck it. How bad could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! Hope this was alright for you. Sorry that this chapter is so short, but the next one will be a bit longer and have some Malik time in it. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait. Please review, and I'll see you next week!


	3. Chapter 03 | That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Sorry that this was late - I wanted to get people with DID to finish looking over it before I posted anything with specific content. But here we go! I'll update early on Saturday to make up for it and to celebrate me getting through my first college term. Hope you enjoy! (Also I gave up on making up a nice thing for the chapter titles, rip)

******CW:** Intrusive thoughts, dissociation, anxiety, talking about Kul Elna but making it a massacre by police

* * *

 

Malik stepped out of the taxi with a small hum. The hotel wasn’t bad. It wasn’t exactly what he had been used to as leader of the Ghouls but- no, he wasn’t meant to compare his life to that anymore. That was bad, and he was good now.

It was still five star - he may have funnelled some money away from his time in Japan without telling his sister. Just a little bit. That wasn’t bad. The money would have just sat in the account otherwise. It wasn’t bad to use it- he should have told his sister- but it wasn’t bad.

He didn’t stay long at the hotel - the vague attempt at faux homeliness didn’t interest him. He just checked in, left his suitcase, and took his keycard with him.

It was odd walking through the streets. He found himself in back alleys that he hardly remembered, feeling like he was sixteen again. He didn’t like the feeling. It was like he was out of control again. He had to pause and squeeze his eyes shut several times - focus on where he was, what age he was, who he was. He didn’t even realise where his feet were taking him until he was standing outside the game shop. He wasn’t meant to be there.

Little had changed in six years. They had painted the front, and the sign was new - Malik supposed more money came in now that the King of Games officially worked there. But it was still the same old converted game shop with cheery yellow walls and a multicoloured name nailed up above the door. The new duel disk hung in the window - it was supposed to only hook around your wrist, like a bracelet, and then expand when you needed it. Trust Kaiba to find a way to bring a duel disk everywhere- It didn’t matter.

Malik looked up at the sign again. He should go. The sun shining down on the colours hurt his eyes. He should go. He swallowed. He should go. The door opened and a bell chimed. He should go. No, stay and do something. They hurt him so he could-  _no_ , he had to go.

He looked down again, levelling his gaze with the door. Yugi stood a little bit taller, carrying out a small box. He was smiling. He could get rid of that smile if he just- no.

He should go, but Malik couldn’t tear his gaze away. Yugi dropped the box into the rubbish bin beside the shop and brushed off his hands. His gaze lifted, and amethyst eyes locked on Malik. Yugi’s jaw dropped a little. “Marik?” He always had an issue with pronouncing the ‘l’ as an ‘r’. If he-  _no_ , he had to  _stop_.

Malik swallowed again and tried to smile. “Hi.” He was using his customer service voice again. He tried to stop. He always zoned out when he used it. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. His head was already pinching and he had been having trouble focusing since he stepped off the plane.

Yugi offered a small smile. “Are you back in Domino for a while?” Malik managed to nod. The smile grew to a wide grin. “Great!” Wait, what? “Do you want to come in? I can make tea or coffee. Or something else if you want. We were about to close up for lunch.”

If he went in, Yugi could hurt him- wait, no. No, Yugi liked him now. He’d redeemed himself. Stupid little twit, he could still fit both hands around Yugi’s neck quite nicely- “I… yeah, sure.” Malik tried to smile again. “Thanks.”

“It’s not a problem.” Yugi turned towards the shop and led Malik inside. Although the shop hadn’t changed much outside, inside it had been updated. A lot. The floors were new, polished wood, and the shelves were now all clear glass. They even had a few glass cases with more expensive games, cards, and figurines on display.

Malik’s eyes landed on one of the Duel Monsters Pop figures. Blue-Eyes White Dragon and Dark Magician. Of course Kaiba would get them done first. Ra wasn’t there. What, was Ra not good enough because Kek had used it-? Malik squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, and the name was gone as soon as it had come.

“Ready to close up, habibi?”

Malik’s head jerked up, and he nearly screamed. The Pharaoh stood behind the counter, glaring him down, covered in his regalia. Hot wind blew through the shop and Malik could hear the chanting. His back burned and he wanted to tear his shirt off his skin, away from the cuts before it was soaked with blood-

“Marik?” Malik jolted and looked over at Yugi. No sand, no hot wind. The shorter man just looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

Malik looked back up at the Pharaoh. He wasn’t glaring. He also looked a little but worried, and there was no robes or jewelery- well, there was a little jewelery. He looked more like his former self - dark skin and burning red eyes. He didn’t have Yugi’s mess of dyed hair anymore - neither did Yugi as a matter of fact. Instead, his hair was long and black with purple dyed streaks, pulled back into dreadlocks. He wore nice clothes. Some sort of tight fitting shirt and skinny jeans, but nothing like the leather from Yugi’s teens. And nothing befitting a Pharaoh. “You’re back.” Get out.

The Pharaoh nodded. “As are you.”

“I didn’t die.” Not quite. Although the Pharaoh had already died once. What was a second rise from the dead? Get out. He could kill Malik- or Malik could kill him- either way he had to move.

“Atem’s been back for a few years now.” Yugi licked his lips.

Malik looked over at him. He wasn’t sure if it was because Atem looked different, or because he was focusing more now, but he finally noticed that Yugi had done more than grow a few inches into his twenties. He had filled out, lean muscles across his arms and chest. His jawline was actually noticeable, and Malik could see the vague shadow of facial hair that was probably shaved the day before. He still wore leather though - a skin tight black shirt, leather knee-high boots, and leather pants. His hair was black and short now, cropped only two or three inches away from his scalp, and the only thing he kept dyed was his blond fringe. He still had no fashion sense, but it was better.

“I see,” Malik finally managed to force out. He didn’t. “How…?” It didn’t matter how, unless it helped him get away from the situation.

“Ryou with his occult fuckery.” Yugi shook his head. His bangs fluttered around his face in a way that never would have been possible with the amount of gel he used to lather into it. “He didn’t really mean to. We were just trying to contact Atem to make sure he had passed over into Aaru.” Atem looked uncomfortable now, staring down at the figurines below the counter he stood behind. “But he just kind of… appeared in Ryou’s living room.”

“Oh.” The word almost died in Malik’s throat. Of course the Pharaoh found a way to come back. Of course he still made it hard for Malik to breathe. Of course he couldn’t just stay fucking dead. “So you…” He swallowed. “You live here now?”

Atem managed to nod. “Yugi and his grandfather were kind enough to let me stay with them.” He gave Yugi a smile. “I’ve been living with them for three years now.”

Three years. Three years the Pharaoh was back, and no one thought to ring Malik, or even shoot him a quick email. Or just shoot him. That might have been more painless.

But Malik managed to force a smile. “That’s nice.” Why did he come here? Even subconsciously?

Yugi looked up at him. “Why did you come back to Domino?” His cheeks flushed a little. “Not that you’re not welcome or anything, but we haven’t heard from you in years.”

Malik chewed the inside of his lip. “I’m not sure,” he admitted after a minute. “I think I just have some things I need to work through.” Yugi looked concerned again, so Malik gave him another false smile. “And I missed Japan. I like Egypt, but I think Japan suits me a little better.” Well that was a big fat lie. Paris suited Malik. London. Belgium. Galway. San Francisco. Europe and America. He didn’t like Japan very much.

Yugi brightened a little bit. “So you’re around for a while?” Atem asked. Malik nodded, trying not to look at him. If he didn’t look, maybe he could pretend the Pharaoh wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t have to do anything bad. Maybe he could just get  _out_.

“That’s great.” Yugi beamed up at him. “Do you want to stay and chat for a while?” Malik dug his nails into his palm. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see - everything seemed to be growing dark, and even without moving, it was all blurring. “Malik?”

Fuck it. This wasn’t working. Malik blacked out, and Namu blinked.

* * *

 

Yugi could see Malik twitch at the suggestion. It was probably the most honest emotion he had shown them since his shock at seeing Yugi outside. But the grimace that came with the tic faded to a polite smile very reminiscent of Battle City within seconds. “I actually have to head back to my hotel for a while. I checked in, but they said my room wouldn’t be ready until five, so I wasn’t able to unpack yet.”

“Oh.” Yugi pursed his lips. He was probably just nervous. Seeing Atem had thrown him. “Maybe another day? I know Bakura’s back and staying with Ryou. We could all meet up for lunch or coffee?”

Malik blinked, eyebrows arching. “Bakura’s back?” That was the most interested he had looked since he walked into the shop.

“Mhm.” Yugi smiled, even though he wanted to scream. He shouldn’t be back. Not when he was leeching off Ryou. “I think he’s working with Kaiba, but he gets weekends off unless there’s an emergency.” Malik gave a slow, careful nod. “I can text Ryou and try to organise something.”

Malik smiled. It was far more polite and relaxed than his previous smiles, so Yugi let his concerns fade a little. Maybe that really was all that had happened - seeing Atem had thrown him more than he had anticipated. “Could I get back to you on that? I have a few things I need to sort out, and I’m not quite sure when I’ll be free.”

“Of course,” Yugi assured him. “Here, I’ll give you my number.” He waited as Malik took out his phone, brought up the phone app, and handed it to him. Yugi quickly punched in his number under  **Yugi Mutou :)**  and returned it to Malik. “Text me whenever you find out when you’re free and I’ll sort something.”

“I will.” Malik slid his phone into his pocket. “I’d better go, but it was good seeing you again.”

“You too.” Yugi smiled and watched as Malik left the game shop. Once he was gone, the bell ringing as the door clicked shut behind him, Yugi’s smile melted and he turned to Atem. “What do you think?”

Atem chewed the side of his tongue. “Something’s different about him,” he murmured, “or it seemed that way when he first came in. When you asked him to stay, he just went right back to how he acted in Battle City.” He pushed himself up off the counter and folded his arms. “But I can’t blame him. You probably should have mentioned that I was here, or told me he was here. I could have slipped into the back.”

Yugi grimaced. “Sorry.” He should have said something. “Do you think he’s safer now?”

“I don’t know what harm he could do,” Atem pointed out, looking at Yugi. “He doesn’t have the Rod or the Ghouls anymore.”

“It was his brain that made him so dangerous though.” Yugi scanned the shop on instinct. He wasn’t sure what for. “Even with the Rod, he wouldn’t have been nearly as lethal without his schemes.”

“True.” Atem tapped one finger on the counter. “I think he’s safe. But I wouldn’t trust him outright. Not yet.”

“Good idea.” Yugi’s gaze flickered to the door again. “I’ll tell Ryou he’s back. Just in case.” He walked towards the back of the shop. “And I’ll sort out the store room. Come get me when your shift ends and I’ll take over.”

* * *

 

Malik wasn’t quite sure when he became conscious of what he was doing again, but the next thing he knew, he was under a cocoon of blankets. His legs ached. He squeezed his eyes shut. What had he done? Think. Yugi, Atem… game shop, speed-walking… Right.

He had sped past the reception without a smile, forced the door open and stuck up the do not disturb sign before yanking every blind closed.

Then he remembered that an absence of sunlight meant the room was dark, and turned on every light that he possibly could to full blast. He glanced at the clock. It had been about four or a little after when he had reached the game shop. Now it was three. Morning or evening? Had he slept? Eaten? He checked his phone. Morning. His phone dropped onto the mattress, and Malik closed his eyes again.

Fuck.

* * *

 

Bakura scratched the arm of the chair he was sitting in with his index finger as he waited. The room was sickly musty, with bright yellow walls that reminded him of the fucking game shop. Some random radio channel supplied background noise, and it helped him avoid his thoughts a little bit. He had scanned the magazines on the table, but they were all sport and fashion based. Not exactly his area of interest.

A rainbow had, of course, caught his eye on the noticeboard, but it was only group therapy for queer teens in the area. An advertisement from seven months ago. Even if it hadn’t already dissolved, Bakura wasn’t in the mood for group therapy. He wasn’t in the mood for therapy in general, but he didn’t want to see Ryou cry like that because of him again.

Just audible over the crappy channel, Bakura heard muted steps on the carpet. A head poked in, almost looking disembodied. “Bakura Yuuto?” Dark brown hair hooked over her forehead, and the corners of the woman’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “Hi, I’m Takashi Seiko. You can follow me.”

What if he didn’t want to? Because he didn’t want to. Follow her, that is. At all. He dragged himself to his feet and shuffled after her. Takashi led him up a flight of stairs with worn red carpet into a room with her name taped to the door in rainbow writing. It was yellow. Why was everything in this fucking city yellow?

“You can take a seat in the chair with the cushion,” Takashi instructed him as she closed the door.

It was floral pink. Bakura tried to ignore the urge to just stand and stare at it, and dropped down into the chair. He actually liked pink. He liked most bright colours. Everything but gold.

“So.” Takashi eased into her own chair and smiled at him. “Do you prefer to be called Bakura or Yuuto?”

“Bakura.” Yuuto was just some bullshit name Ryou came up with to put on his ID. “Call me Bakura.”

“Okay then.” Takashi reached over to the small table beside her. The wood matched the legs of the armchair. From the small grooves in the carpet, it had been moved relatively recently to sit closer to the window. She scribbled something onto a sheet of paper and then set her pen down. “So, Bakura. Why did you call in to see someone?”

Bakura tapped his finger on the arm of the chair. “My… roommate thinks I need to talk to someone about things.”

“Do you?” Takashi raised her eyebrow.

Bakura shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll work for me.” How could it when he wasn’t even able to be honest about what he had been through? That was the entire point of therapy, right?

“Why not?”

Bakura just shook his head. “I just don’t.”

Takashi gave a slow nod. “Why does your roommate think you need to be here?”

“Uh…” Bakura swallowed and focused on the edge of his own chair. Eye contact was hard. “He thinks I have mental illnesses or something and that I’ve never learned to deal with what happened.” Shit. Shit, shit, fucking shit.

“What happened?”

Bakura let out a shaky breath. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he mumbled.

Takashi smiled. “Alright, well why don’t you try? You’d be surprised by the amount of wild stories I’ve heard here.”

Nothing as wild as a few thousand year old spirit. Nothing was that wild. Bakura glanced at her. Think. “When I was little-” he spoke slowly, carefully. “-I lived in Egypt. Small village. I don’t even remember the name.” He dug the nail of his middle finger into his thumb. “But, uh… I don’t know; I think it owed a lot of debt to the local police or something. The people there, I mean. One night-” He had to take a breath. His eyes were burning. “One night, they came and attacked the village. They set houses on fire and- and they didn’t use guns. I don’t know what it was. Daggers or something a bit more… easy to hide.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “My mom hid me. She pushed me behind a cupboard and they didn’t think to look for a child. And… and instead of burying them or- or anything, they just-” He cleared his throat. “They burned them so there was fuck all evidence. Not that anyone would have taken case against them. I was a child, and they were police. No one was going to believe me.” He sniffed and shook his head. Despite his eyes being closed, water pooled out of them and spilled down his cheeks. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Takashi leaned over to the table again and pulled two tissues from the box. She held them out to Bakura. He grabbed them and just pressed them hard into his eyes until he trusted himself to look up again without crying even more. “That’s horrifying.”

“No shit.” He kind of liked the way she put it. He couldn’t help it - she didn’t apologise or some bullshit like that. She just… accepted it. Although it was a bit more believable than what had happened - what with them being boiled in gold to make items by the Pharaoh’s guards and Bakura being manipulated by a dark god. “So… yeah.”

Takashi shook her head and leaned forward. Her elbows rested on her knees. “How did you deal with it?”

“I, uh…” Bakura rubbed his arm. Maybe Ryou was right. Actually fuck it, he knew Ryou was right. “I guess I didn’t. When I thought everyone was gone, I ran out to try and find my mom, but… I couldn’t. I just started walking and eventually someone drove by and picked me up. They brought me to a police station in Cairo and I wouldn’t stop screaming at the police, even though they weren’t the ones that did anything. And I was put into the system.”

“How did you get to Japan?” She was trying to draw him away from the topic of Kul Elna, and he knew it, but he didn’t mind. He was actually kind of grateful for it.

“Uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “My roommate. Well, he’s my brother, I guess. His father worked in Egypt, and… I don’t really know why, but he adopted me and got me to Japan. I think it was to keep Ryou company because he was home alone a lot.”

“So you didn’t see much of him either?” Takashi prompted. Bakura shrugged. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Bakura forced a smile. “Probably a few years ago. He’s been on a really long project in Egypt and doesn’t have much cell service.” It was a handy lie. Anyone who wasn’t from Africa seemed to think of everywhere there as poverty-stricken desert with people living in small, bed-less huts.

Takashi nodded. “Is that hard to deal with?”

“Not really.” Bakura shook his head. “I’m used to it. I think Ryou struggles with it more.”

“You’ve brought up Ryou a few times now.” Takashi smiled. “He’s the one who convinced you to come to therapy, right? How?”

Bakura sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t like seeing him cry,” he mumbled, “and I don’t want to be the reason that he cries. He has enough shit to deal with without me adding to it.” Takashi watched him, waiting for him to add more. “I guess I don’t really feel like I can talk to him. About things.”

Takashi let out a slow breath. “It’s hard to talk to people we care about sometimes, especially when we know they’re going through things themselves.” She offered him another smile. “We’ll try and make this a place that you feel okay coming to talk about your problems in if you want that.” She tilted her head. “Do you?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“You said you came for your brother,” Takashi pointed out. “Not for yourself. If this is going to work, you need to want to get help.”

Bakura chewed his lip. Fuck it. “I guess it couldn’t hurt."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! I promise Malik and Bakura actually get to see each other in the next chapter. Please review!


	4. Chapter 04 | When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Here's chapter four a little early! This is because I was late posting chapter three, and because I finished my first semester of college. I just have exams to get through, and then I'm off! Anyway, hope you enjoy this. Malik and Bakura finally meet in this chapter, so the last third of it is basically just smut. Also, just as a side note, how many people reading this are LGBT? Just wondering. Anyway, enjoy!

 

**CW: Intrusive thoughts, anxiety, dissociating, NSFW**

* * *

Malik took a slow breath as he closed his apartment door behind him. The lock automatically clicked into place. This was fine. He was fine. This was okay. He could do this. He hadn’t left the apartment in the three days since he had arrived in Domino, since he had seen Atem, even to eat, but this was fine. He was fine. This was okay. He just needed to get some groceries so he wasn’t completely dependent on one room service order every day.

He had pulled on his baggiest jacket. It was comfortable and easy to feel like he was hidden away in as he waited for the elevator - almost like he was still curled up under his blankets, just staring at the wall. He had blacked out a lot. A few things were broken, but he could pay for them. He had asked to have his room cleaned while he was out anyway, so it wasn’t like he was at risk of hurting himself on the shards. It was all in the bathroom anyway.

The receptionist that had checked him in gave him a wave as he left the apartment complex, and he returned it with a smile. This was fine. The sun outside blinded him a little when he stood under it. That’s what three days of sitting in an entirely curtained hotel room does, even with every light at full blast. But he was fine. He made his way down the path. 

He hadn’t worn anything flashy like he normally would. His jeans practically burned his legs - he fucking hated wearing them. And his sneakers were a discounted trash heap, but nothing drew attention to him. Nothing but his hair. He kept his head down as he walked. This was okay. Most people would just assume that he had dyed it - it wasn’t that uncommon of a thing in Japan. He stared down at the path. Plus this was a very tourist-y area of Domino. 

He risked a glance up. No one was looking at him. Not a single person. He relaxed a little and took out his phone. He had to check where the nearest _Ozeki_ store was - he had never bothered with groceries during Battle City. Expensive, elaborate menus in the best restaurants had been more his style. Not that it still wasn’t, but going out every night simply wasn’t practical. 

He walked the five minutes to the store in silence, not quite thinking, not quite present. It was kind of nice. He grabbed a basket once he got inside. He didn’t need too much - just enough to make a stir fry, and maybe some rice and cereal too. And soy milk. He needed some soy milk. He wandered through the meat aisle into the cereal shelves, right across from the frozen sweets. He could do this.

“Malik?”

Malik knew who it was before he turned. Ryou Bakura was the only Japanese native he had met in Battle City who had pronounced his name right. Still, his mouth went dry when he actually saw him. “Uh-”

“As-salamu alaykum.” Ryou nodded. His Arabic was improving - his accent even sounded natural. 

“I can speak Japanese just fine.” He didn’t mean to sound sharp. Yes, he did. He wanted to- wanted to- Fuck, his thoughts were just cutting off there. He didn't even know what he wanted to do. He just didn’t want to be there. “How have you been?”

“Alright.” Ryou had grown too. He had started testosterone, Malik could see, and cut his hair a little. His bangs were more pronounced, styled rather than just hanging limp around dark chocolate eyes. “And you?”

“I’ve been…” Malik trailed off. “Busy.” It was one way to put it anyway. He had been. “I was working with my sister at the museum in Cairo.”

“That sounds good.” Ryou chewed his lip. He had that habit from Battle City. Malik remembered it annoying the hell out of him whenever Ryou had control - which happened far more often than he would have liked. “Why are you back?”

Malik hesitated. Get out. He could still get out. He could hurt him- no, he didn’t want to hurt Ryou. That would cause a scene. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Rishid said I needed to deal with things, and this seemed like the best place to come to terms with them.” He didn’t know why he said it. He hadn’t seen Ryou in years. But he was easy to talk to. 

“I see.” Ryou nodded and fell silent.

Malik dug his toe into the sole of his shoe. He hated the silence, only filled by the odd chatter of other shoppers and the unsettling music. “Do you want to go for coffee?” He asked. “I need to finish shopping, and I assume you do too, but after that…” He trailed off again and shrugged. He had to focus on staying present, but he figured he owed Ryou at least a talk over some coffee.

Ryou raised an eyebrow, and it disappeared under his fringe. “No offence, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.”

Malik swallowed. Apologise. “I understand, honey.” No, don’t, he didn’t do anything wrong. Except call him honey- that was too endearing- he shouldn't have said anything. Apologise- no, he was better than that. He tried to meet Ryou’s gaze. “I’m not going to apologise.” He didn’t want to insult Ryou like that. “I don’t think you’d want me to.”

“It would seem a little empty,” Ryou admitted, “after you got Bakura to stab me in the arm.”

Malik winced. “That’s fair.” He couldn’t blame him, but the back of his mind was just tugging at him, pulling him towards dissociating again. It would be easy to stab him-  _ no _ . Fuck. “But I do wish someone had just decked me before it happened. Maybe you.”

Ryou hummed. “That would have been nice.” He looked amused, but Malik couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Ryou peered up at him. “So you regret it?”

Malik sighed. “Yeah. Very much so.”

Ryou nodded. “That helps a little.” He gave Malik a small grin. “Although if we meet up, I’d still be a little hesitant to go anywhere that has knives.” 

That was definitely a joke. Malik managed to crack a smile. “I saw Yugi and Atem a few days ago.”

“Yugi rang soon after you left,” Ryou admitted. “If he hadn’t, I don’t think I would have talked to you if I saw you.” He grinned. “Anxiety makes it hard to deal with people when you’re not expecting it.”

Ryou had anxiety? Well it would make sense. “Yeah…” Malik flicked his tongue out over his lower lip. “They mentioned Bakura was back.” Ryou’s smile was already fading back to his initial wary expression. He fucked up, he fucked up, he had to get out. “Is there any way I could-?”

“I don’t know.” Ryou shook his head. He moved the basket in his left hand to his right. Maybe he was left-handed and wanted to hit Malik- he couldn’t remember- no, no Ryou wouldn’t- “Bakura’s… not in a good place at the moment. I’d need to ask him if he’s okay with seeing you.”

Malik nodded. The pull was coming back again. Why did he ask? “I understand.”

Ryou tried to smile. “If you give me your number, I can pass it on to him. He can text if he wants.”

Malik hesitated. His heart pounded. “Yeah, sure.” He pulled out his phone - he had gotten a new sim card for Japan and hadn’t learned his number off yet. “Here you go.”

Ryou quickly typed the number into his phone, hardly looking at his own screen. “Perfect.” He gave Malik that half attempt at a smile again. “I need to go, but I’ll pass it on. Okay?”

“Okay.” Malik did his best to return it. “Thanks, ho- Ryou. I’ll- I'll see you around.” Get out. Get out now.

“Ma’al-salamah.” Ryou gave him a tiny wave. 

Malik did his best to keep his pace normal until he rounded into the next aisle. Once he was out of Ryou’s sight, he set down his basket and speed-walked to the exit. 

He was out of breath, almost gasping for air, when he got outside. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to find a counsellor. Now. He fumbled for his phone and typed **Domino counselling service** into _Google_. He just clicked into the first option available and hit the call button. 

_ “Hello, North East Counselling _ ,” a soft voice greeted. “ _ How can I help you? _ ”

“Hi,” Malik forced out. “Do you take walk in appointments?”

“ _ Yes, between two and four. Do you need an appointment _ ?”

“Yes.”

“ _ Alright, well come down and we’ll find a counsellor for you. _ ”

“Thanks.” Malik hung up. Why did he do that? He was meant to wait on Sanaa to send him a number- it didn’t matter. Maybe it would help. He checked the address before stuffing his phone into his pocket. By the docks. That was manageable. He just had to focus on breathing and not blacking out again. 

* * *

Bakura’s leg jogged as he waited on the bench. The sky was turning grey as summer ended, but it was the first dark day. The cloudy days wouldn’t set in for another few months. He checked his phone again. He was late. Maybe Malik had decided that Bakura wasn’t worth it - that he wasn’t worth seeing, or talking to again. Bakura wouldn’t blame him.

Or maybe he was in an accident. A car had driven into his bus- no Malik wouldn’t take the bus. A bus had driven into his car. Or motorbike. He had probably bought a motorbike specifically for his time in Japan, the fucking extravagant douchebag that he was. Or he could have swerved to avoid someone and crashed into something. He could be dead. No, he probably just decided Bakura wasn’t worth his time.

“Hey.”

Bakura’s head jerked up. Malik was smiling, though he looked nervous. The top of his hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and the rest fluttered down around his face and shoulders. His jaw was broader, a little more like how he had described his father looking, but he was entirely clean shaven. His kohl lined his eyes, and they sparkled just the same as they had in Battle City. “Fuck, hi.” Bakura stood up. “How are you?”

Malik’s lip quirked up into an amused smile. “I’m good, honey."

"Honey?" Bakura's eyebrows arched. Honey. What the fuck, how gay had this guy actually turned out?

"Shut up." Malik's brow dipped a little, but the tiny wrinkles faded in a moment. "How about you?”

Fan-fucking-tastic now that Malik was there. But Bakura just returned his smile with a grin. “Pretty good.” He knew Ryou had told Malik the opposite - that he was, in fact, pretty fucking awful - but that wasn’t the case anymore. He was on a high and he fully intended to ride it out. “So, where do you want to go?”

Malik hummed. “Coffee?” He offered. “I know a good place down the road.”

Bakura scoffed. “I know where you’re talking about and it’s bullshit. I’ll take you to a good place.”

Malik frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with the coffee there.”

“It’s shit.” Bakura grinned and slipped his hands into the pockets of his crimson hoodie. “Come on - trust the native.”

“You’re not even Japanese,” Malik scoffed, but he allowed Bakura to lead him in the opposite direction to the one he had wanted to go in. “You look good.”

“I’d hope so.”

“I meant this body,” Malik clarified. “It suits you more.”

Bakura reached up and ran a hand through his hair. He had cut it recently, so it only hung a little past his chin, rather than its usual length at his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Definitely.” 

He could feel Malik’s gaze run up and down his body and smirked. “Well you grew up pretty nicely yourself.” Bakura winked. 

“I know.” Malik grinned and adjusted the sleeves of his shirt. Of course the extra bastard wore a shirt to a coffee date. 

Wait no. This wasn’t a date. This was meant to be serious. Bakura’s smile fell a little. “I tried to contact you when I came back,” he mumbled, “but you’d changed your number. Ryou couldn’t find you.”

Malik looked away. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I went off the grid for a while. I didn’t talk to a lot of people between that duel and up until about… two years ago.” He shook his head. “And I didn’t think you’d be back.”

“You’d have contacted me if you did?” Bakura looked up at him. Lavender eyes shone out from behind a curtain of blond. He really loved those eyes.

“Without question.”

Bakura scoffed. “I’d hope not. I was a fucking dickhead when you met me.”

“And hardcore,” Malik pointed out. “You stabbed yourself.”

“And I ran in front of your bike.” Bakura grinned. “And nearly got myself killed trying to save your dumb ass from the shadows.”

“Yeah, well, I paid you back, didn’t I?” Malik chuckled, nudging him. 

Bakura managed to stop himself from jumping at the shiver that shot up his arm when Malik touched it. “Come on - we’re in here.” He led Malik inside a building so small that he was sure the other hadn’t even noticed it. The walls were grey and tables with comfy chairs were dotted all around the shop. 

A single A4-sized blackboard sat on the counter with the drinks menu, and a small selection of sweets were laid to rest underneath a glass case. 

Bakura didn’t even glance at the menu. “What’ll you have?”

Malik chewed his lip. “Just a black coffee.”

“Classy.” Bakura snorted. “Grab a table and I’ll get us drinks.” He wandered over to the counter and ordered as Malik dropped into one of the seats. When he returned with their order, Malik was watching him. “What?”

“Is that a hot chocolate?” Malik’s eyebrows arched.

Bakura rolled his eyes and set Malik’s coffee down on the table. “I don’t like coffee much. I just drink it if I need to work late.” He sat down in the bigger of the two remaining armchairs and pulled up his legs so they were curled under him. Malik tilted his head. “What now?”

“It’s just…” Malik’s brow furrowed this time. “Interesting.”

“My hot chocolate?” Bakura blew on the top of it to help it cool faster. “If it makes it better, I like cinnamon on it too.”

“That does make it better,” Malik admitted, “but it wasn’t what I was talking about.” He took a sip of his coffee without blowing the top, and the only thing that Bakura could think was that it was big dick energy. He had been reading too many memes. “I think I’ve seen you show more emotion in the past twenty minutes than in the entirety of the time we interacted back when you were in the ring.”

Bakura looked down at his hot chocolate. That’s the anxiety, love, he wanted to say, but he didn’t think Malik would take that kind of joke very well and he also had to mind calling Malik love. Yeah, he called everyone love, but still. “Yeah,” he finally said, “well my range of emotions then was pretty much just vengeful to particularly sardonic.”

Malik nodded. “I think I was the same with the Rod,” he mumbled. “Well, not the same, but- but similar.”

“They corrupt everyone over time.” Bakura shook his head and took a sip of his chocolate. Then winced. How the fuck did Malik drink his coffee so soon? It was still too hot. “So what’ve you been up to, love?”

It was just an attempt to change the topic from the Items before it sent Bakura down - and a little bit of payback for Malik calling him honey -  but it worked. They ended up sitting in the coffee shop, chatting and bickering for the better part of an hour. 

Once Malik paid (“Fuck you - I found the place, you pay.”), they wandered out to the street again. It was still relatively early afternoon. Bakura rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. “Do you want to come back to my place for a bit?” He asked. “Well it’s Ryou’s place, but he’s gone for the day.”

“Yeah?” Malik raised his eyebrows. “He won’t mind?”

“Nah.” Bakura shrugged. He could throw any of Ryou’s stray clothes into the hamper. As long as Ryou didn’t think Malik saw the apartment as a mess, he’d be okay. Probably. Honestly, Bakura didn’t really care. No, he did. He didn’t want to see Ryou cry again. He paused and chewed his lip. No, Ryou wouldn’t mind. He mightn’t be ecstatic, but he wouldn’t mind. “Come on - it’s only a few minutes away.”

“We could just get a taxi,” Malik pointed out.

“Oh fuck you and your taxis,” Bakura huffed and grabbed his hand, pulling him down the street. “It’ll do you good to walk, Ishtar.” That only led to another argument that lasted until they were back at the apartment. 

“All I’m saying is that you spend your money on way too many unnecessary things,” Bakura snorted, pushing open the door. Ryou must have cleaned up before he left for work.

“You weren’t complaining when you asked for the suite in Battle City,” Malik laughed. “I don’t even get why you needed a suite.”

“Yeah, fuck you.”

“I mean-” Malik paused. “If you want to.”

Bakura paused. Half of the things Malik had done were big dick energy, and now he wanted to see if it were _just_ energy. “Want to see my room?”

“Sure.” Malik grinned and followed him across the living room to his room. 

Cables were still a little out of place, largely in a mound in the far left corner that Bakura didn’t like  to acknowledge, but he had actually cleaned that morning. Partially because he had been procrastinating work, partially because he was anxious about meeting Malik, and also somewhat because he had been feeling particularly slutty. 

Still, it wasn’t exactly tidy. Bakura turned to Malik. “Sorry about the mess-” Malik pushed him up against the wall and kissed him hard. Bakura groaned, hooking his arms around Malik’s neck. Fuck yes. This had been exactly what he’d wanted to happen when he was cleaning. He pulled Malik closer, groaning as the other sucked at his lip. Their teeth clicked awkwardly and Bakura pulled back with a small grimace. 

Malik just used the chance to attack Bakura’s neck with a swarm of kisses and bites. It made blood rush to Bakura’s already hardening dick, turning it to _fucking granite_. 

“Holy fuck, yes-” Bakura’s head fell back and he moved his arms away from Malik’s neck to give him more access to his throat. Instead, he hooked his fingers into Malik’s belt loops and pulled his hips closer. 

Malik’s fingers dug into his sides as their crotches pressed together. Bakura groaned louder and rolled his hips. Malik bit the side of his neck, hard. Bakura fumbled for his belt through a haze of lust, struggling to unbuckle it. He didn’t try to even touch Malik’s shirt. 

“I hope you have lube, honey” Malik commented, pressing his hips against Bakura’s again, “because I honestly did not plan for this.”

Bakura huffed. “Bottom drawer.” He pulled Malik’s belt away. “Condoms too.”

Malik nodded and nipped Bakura’s neck once more before pulling back. “Strip.”

“Isn’t that meant to be your job?” Bakura complained, but he pulled off his shirt as Malik walked over to the chest of drawers. 

Malik hummed and pulled out the lube and a box of condoms after double checking he had the right size. “It’s more fun to see you do it.” He smirked and turned in time to see Bakura kicking his jeans away to the cable corner. “Bed.”

“You know,” Bakura drawled as he loped over to the bed and sat down, “you could stop ordering me around and do something.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Malik smirked and pulled down his own pants. His legs finally stopped burning as he stepped out of them. Bakura pulled Malik down onto his lap and kissed him again, and Malik pushed him down onto the mattress. “Scoot up a little.”

Bakura rolled his eyes but wiggled up on the bed. Malik pulled down Bakura’s boxers and kissed down his chest as he coated his fingers in lube. Bakura hummed in appreciation, but it wasn’t like when his neck was being sucked, and Malik wanted him screaming. 

He ran his tongue up Bakura’s cock. “How are we doing this?”

“Fuck!” Bakura gripped the sheets in his fists. “I don’t care as long as you fucking fuck me already.”

Malik snorted. “We’ve hardly been at it five minutes.” He traced a finger around Bakura’s entrance and pushed it in as he swallowed the other’s cock down to the base.

“Oh, gods!” Bakura’s hips hitched up, and Malik had to hold them steady with his free hand. Bakura’s legs began to shake as Malik added a second finger, scissored them a bit, and then a third finger. “Fuck, you’re-” He had to resist the urge to grab Malik’s hair. “You’re good at this-” He bit his lip as Malik gave a hard suck before pulling away. 

“Thanks.” He smirked and pushed the loose bits of his hair away from his face with the palm of his hand. “You ready?”

“I’ve been fucking ready for the past two hours.”

Malik snorted and tore one of the condom wrappers open. “Then how did it take us this long to get here?”

“Because you're pompous and wanted to go for coffee,” Bakura reminded him, propping himself up on his elbows to watch as Malik rolled the condom down over his cock. Definitely not just big dick _energy_ , anyway. 

Malik leaned in and kissed Bakura’s neck as he pressed into him. Bakura couldn’t help himself this time - he grabbed the back of Malik’s head and held him there to make sure he didn’t stop biting his throat, holy fuck. 

“Fuck,” Malik hissed as Bakura purposely clenched around him. “Fuck, you're so tight-” Malik stilled for a second to allow Bakura to adjust, despite every instinct screaming at him to jackhammer into Bakura until he came. “Good?” Bakura groaned and nodded, holding him closer. “Can I move yet?”

“If you don’t move, I’m going to fucking smother y-” Malik snapped his hips forward, and Bakura threw back his head with a loud moan. “Fuck!”

“You were saying?” Malik chuckled. 

“Shut up and fuck me,” Bakura growled. He moved his hands to grab Malik’s ass, pushing him to go faster and harder with every thrust. It didn’t take him long to find Bakura’s prostate, and Malik slammed into it hard enough to make Bakura scream.

Domino wasn’t bad on acceptance, but neighbours didn’t like to hear anyone screaming. But on the other hand, Malik’s cock felt amazing inside him, and it was hard to hold back. Bakura grabbed the pillow from behind his head and stuffed it over his face to muffle himself, at least a little bit. Malik pulled it away. “Don’t you dare,” he growled, grazing his teeth over Bakura’s lower lip.

Bakura opened his mouth to say something - whether it was a comeback or a plead, he hadn’t quite decided yet - but another thrust had him pressing his forehead to Malik’s shoulder and moaning through gritted teeth. “N-Neighbours,” he managed to force out.

Malik kissed him again. “They’re going to get quite a show then.” His voice was breathy now, and Bakura could feel his groin tightening. Malik’s thrusts grew more frantic.

Bakura had to grab his arm. “Fuck- slow down-” He moaned. “I’m not-” He didn't want to cum yet. 

Malik paused. “You’re not-?” He prompted.

Bakura huffed and twisted. Malik pulled out so Bakura could turn onto his knees and brace himself against the wall. It’d reduce the intensity a little to make it more bearable, and maybe he’d be able to mute himself a little more like this. At least he wouldn’t have the constant urge to kiss Malik.

Malik added a little more lube before easing into Bakura again and wrapping his arms around his waist. His lips ghosted Bakura’s neck, and the smaller man shivered. “Didn’t think you’d like getting this close.” His chest pressed up against Bakura’s back. 

Fuck. No, he still wanted to kiss Malik. Even more, actually. “Why wouldn’t I?” He snorted. 

Malik slammed into him and Bakura tried to choke back a moan. This was a mistake. The angle was even better now, holy fuck that felt amazing. “You don’t like cuddling.”

“Fuck you,” Bakura gasped. 

Malik snorted. “I think you’ll find I’m the one fucking you.” His hips slapped against Bakura's ass again, as though to emphasise his words. Bakura whined, his head falling back onto Malik’s shoulder. The new rhythm was a little easier to hold off with, if only because Malik couldn't move quite as fast.

After a few minutes, Malik reached his hand down and wrapped it around Bakura’s cock, and Bakura bucked back, body begging for more, more- “More, fuck!” More pleasure, more movement, more Malik. 

Malik’s other hand wandered down to tease Bakura’s balls as he jerked his cock. He had to slow down to manage the action, but the blowjob, the anticipation, the build from nothing but jerking himself off for the past few months, the hand that wasn’t his around his cock while he was being fucked, proved too much and Bakura screamed Malik’s name as he came over his hand.

Once he was done, Malik pulled out and let Bakura lie back down again before he resumed. Bakura usually didn’t like being fucked after he came, but he didn’t mind this time, pulling Malik closer and kissing him until the other tensed and spilled into the condom, mouth wide in a long moan and eyes squeezed shut.

Once he had ridden out his orgasm, Malik quickly pulled out again and disposed of the condom before returning to the bed. He pulled off his shirt before climbing in with Bakura.

Bakura watched him for a second. “You okay?”

Malik nodded. “Yeah. My back’s just a little itchy.” His arms wound around Bakura, and the other nestled into him. “So you do like cuddling now?”

“Oh fuck off.” Bakura yawned. “You started this.”

“You’re the one getting into it.” Bakura lazily swatted at him. Malik paused, chewing his lip. “Should we go before Ryou comes back?”

Bakura paused to think about it. Normally, his anxiety would be acting up - about Ryou coming home to find anyone he was with there. He didn’t like to mix his sexual life with his… Ryou life. “Nah,” he decided, closing his eyes again. No rush of fear followed the statement. “He won’t be home until late. We’re fine.” 

Malik rested his chin on top of Bakura’s head. “You’re such a cuddle slut.”

“Am not,” Bakura muttered, even though he absolutely was. “I’m just an all-round slut.”

“That includes cuddles,” Malik snickered. Bakura was too tired to argue with him, and honestly, something else as well. His chest felt warm. Malik yawned and kissed the top of his head. “Sleep well, honey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed. Please review, and I'll see you on Wednesday.


	5. Chapter 05 | You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Sorry for the slight delay in posting - I was watching my first Christmas film of the season in bed and was feeling a little off the past couple of days, but I'm coming out of it I think. Hope you guys like this chapter! Honestly it's where shit starts to get real with Bakura so take care.

**CW: Small discussion of sex, anxiety, coming off meds, intrusive thoughts, depression**

* * *

 

Malik jerked awake to the smell of cooking chicken and rubbed his eyes with a groan. Bakura was still curled up under his chin, face smooth, sound asleep. Malik couldn’t help but smile. This suited him far better than the jagged shadow of Ryou’s body had. He reached one hand up and brushed his fingers through Bakura’s hair.

Bakura twitched, but didn’t wake. Gods, his hair was soft. Malik sighed and relaxed again. Why did he even wake up- wait, he had smelled chicken. Why was there a smell of chicken coming from outside?

He glanced towards the window and his smile faded. It was dark. That wasn’t the problem - Bakura’s bedside lamp was on. What time was it? He fumbled for his phone, discarded on the floor with his pants. One or two texts from Ishizu, a notification about job openings in Domino, and then- “Shit.” Half eight.

Bakura stirred but didn’t open his eyes. “Shut up,” he mumbled. “M’trying to sleep.”

Malik shook his head. “Bakura,” he whispered, “I think Ryou’s back.”

“He’s not back for hours,” Bakura slurred, eyelids tightening as he fought to stay asleep.

“It’s half eight.”

“At night?”

“Yes of course at night - what else would it be?” Malik huffed. He didn’t mean to snap. He never did, really. But he didn’t want to run into Ryou outside. Not when the last time he had seen him was the grocery store. 

“Shit.” Bakura groaned and reached up a hand, pushing his hair back out of his face. He blinked his eyes open, winced at the light, and hid his face in Malik’s chest. “Gimme a sec.” 

Fuck, how could he get out? He could launch himself out the window. That would be a quick solution. But it might hurt- who cared- his blood would be all over the pavement and someone would have to clean it up- but  _Ryou would fucking see him_ \- 

Bakura's arm tightened around Malik as he tensed. “Hey, relax. You’ll get out, okay? Just-” Bakura yawned. “Give me a moment to wake up.” Finally, he pulled away from Malik’s chest and sat up. “Okay, come on. Let’s get dressed.”

Malik yanked his pants and boxers back on, followed by his shirt as Bakura stumbled around, trying to find clean clothes. “Do you think he’ll notice?”

“Hopefully not,” Bakura muttered. 

Malik hummed and dragged his fingers through his hair to try and neaten it a little. His shoes were by the door. Fuck. “Bakura, I left my shoes outside.” Okay, so maybe even if he didn't die, falling three storeys would be a less painful outcome.

“He’s always exhausted when he gets in.” Bakura shook his head. “He probably won’t even have noticed.” He pulled a t-shirt over his head and looked at Malik. “Ready?”

Malik let out a slow breath and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. How do we do this?” If he could just get his shoes-

Bakura chewed his lip, pushing his hair out of his forehead. “Okay. Okay, you- I’ll distract Ryou and try to get him into the kitchen if he’s not already there. You go for the door and be fucking quiet. Okay? Grab your shoes, and go.”

Malik scoffed. “I am quiet.” Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Oh shut up, screamer.” He shook his head. It was fine. He could put on his shoes outside. “Okay, let’s go.” And if he wasn't quiet enough, he could stab Ryou- no, that would be rude.

Bakura nodded and walked out of the room, not fully closing the door behind him. “Hey, Ry.”

“Hi,” Ryou called, sounding a lot chirpier than he had been at the grocery store. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” Malik saw Bakura stretch and wander into the kitchen. “What are you cooking?” 

Behind his back, he waved a hand towards the door. Go. Malik slipped out, trying to keep the door from moving as much as possible.

“I made stir fry.”

He crept across the lino floor, trying not to let his feet make a sound. 

“Why are you cooking the meat separately?”

“Because I figured Malik would want some.” Malik froze and glanced towards the kitchen. Ryou’s back was still to him. Stabbing didn't sound so rude now. Bakura twisted and caught his gaze. “I assume you do, right Malik?” Ryou finally turned and gave him a smile. 

Malik hesitated. “Yeah,” he finally choked out. “Thanks.” Get out.

“Perfect.” Ryou turned back to the wok he was working at.

Leave. Malik slowly made his way into the kitchen, as Bakura stared at Ryou. “How’d you know he was here?”

Ryou looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You never close your door when you’re working, and his shoes were by the door. You really underestimate my perception abilities.”

Bakura huffed. “Well you always fumble your rolls when you try to look around,” he muttered, leaning up against the counter. He was small enough that he couldn’t even half-sit on it. His lower back was barely touching the top of the counter. Malik found the new height endearing. 

“Yeah, well that’s Monster World, and this is real life.” Ryou pursed his lips. “Next time just text me when he’s coming - I would have brought home more food.”

“I don’t mind,” Malik jumped in. “I wasn’t expecting any food, so thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ryou gave him a nod. “Could you stir this for me while I set the table?”

“I’ll set it.” Bakura pulled open the cutlery drawer and grabbed a fistful of knives, forks, and chopsticks. Why they needed all three, Malik didn’t know, but he didn’t question it.

“Thanks.” Ryou grinned at him. Bakura waved him off and wandered out of the kitchen to the living area.

Malik swallowed hard. He was just imagining the tension in the room. He had to tell himself that to speak. “I shouldn’t have come in without you knowing.” Grab the knife, grab the knife, grab the  _fucking knife coward_. 

Ryou looked up at him. “It’s as much Bakura’s apartment as it is mine,” he pointed out. “You don’t have to ask for my permission to sleep with him.” Malik winced. “You did, right?”

“Is it that obvious?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“That you slept with him, or that you’re gay?” Ryou raised an eyebrow. 

“Both.”

“Well I came home half an hour ago, two pairs of shoes were at the door, and Bakura’s bedroom door was closed, then he tries to sneak you out,” Ryou listed, “and I peeked in to check if he was okay and saw you cuddled up together.” Malik’s face burned. “Don’t tell him I did that. That was honestly the only reason I knew you were here, but I want him to think my perception’s better.”

“I fucking knew it!” Bakura cackled, and Ryou’s face turned as red as Malik’s felt. 

“Shut up!” He called in English over his shoulder. Bakura just laughed and returned to grab glasses. Ryou sighed as Bakura left the room again. “Anyway, yeah. It was pretty obvious after that.” He grinned at Malik. “And every queer person has a gaydar, so don’t worry.”

“But you’re also relentlessly gay.” 

“Bakura, can you shut up?” Ryou called, in English again. “Don’t make him feel self-conscious.”

“It’s fine,” Malik assured him, in English too. “I’m fine.”

Ryou paused, turning to him. “You can speak English?”

Malik nodded, then cringed. “I, uh… whenever I used the Rod, I learned whatever languages the people I was controlling knew. So… yeah.” He got his English from Ryou.

“I see.” Ryou nodded, something flashing in his eyes. He knew where Malik had learned it too. “How many do you know?”

“Um…” Malik chewed his tongue. “About… fifteen? I think?” Bakura whistled as he returned to get drinks, and Malik’s face heated up again.

“That’s pretty cool,” Ryou admitted, grinning. “But back to the topic, it is pretty obvious that you’re gay. You do paint your nails and call everyone honey-”

“Don’t stereotype!” Bakura mock-scolded. 

Ryou rolled his eyes. “I’m not. And don’t use my lines against me.” He shrugged. “But straight people like to assume that everyone around them is straight, so you’re fine.”

Malik huffed and leaned against the counter. “I suppose that’s something.” He had glammed it up a little bit for the coffee meet-up with Bakura. He didn’t feel able to do so in Egypt, so it felt nice.

“Exactly.” Ryou smiled at him. “Pass me a plate, would you?” 

Malik pulled down three plates from the press as Bakura disappeared into his room to pull on socks. “You’re sure you don’t mind me being here?” He asked as he passed one to Ryou. 

Ryou glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Bakura was actually smiling when he walked out the door today, and he cleaned his room. That was because of you.” He spooned some basmati rice onto the plate. “I might still be a little wary, but…” He shook his head. “I can see that you’ve changed, and I wasn’t exactly innocent in the whole ordeal either.” He added some vegetables to the top and set it aside. That must be Malik’s, then. “So no. I don’t mind.” He offered a small smile. “It’s actually… kind of nice.”

“Nice?” Malik’s eyebrows arched and he passed Ryou another plate. “How?”

“Yugi and Atem are friendly and all that, but they don’t like to even think about what happened, much less bring it up.” Ryou shook his head. “It’s nice meeting someone else who doesn’t want to pretend that it didn’t happen and that they’re all better now that the items are gone.”

Malik risked a smile. “The Pharaoh was pretty fucked up.”

“You have no idea.” Ryou rolled his eyes. “You met him when he calmed down.” He scooped a generous portion of rice and meat onto the next plate, and very little vegetables. Bakura’s. “Did you know he once set a man on fire in a penalty game? He was also sexist as hell and thought that beauty was the only thing women cared about.”

“Wait, wait, go back.” Malik stared at him. “The Pharaoh set a man on fire?” 

“Yup.” Ryou smiled, but it was tight. “But he doesn’t like to talk about that, because ‘it was all the darkness’ doing’.” He shook his head. “So, as I said, it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t like that.”

It must be. Malik paused. Isis. Of course it was. “Thanks.” Maybe he didn't need to stab Ryou.

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” Ryou took the last plate. “Now come on - let’s eat.”

* * *

 

Bakura was humming as he sat in the waiting room. The walls didn’t seem so forcefully cheerful anymore, and he actually liked the rainbow on the random piece of outdated paper this time. The radio wasn’t bad this time either - Lana Del Ray was playing, and he actually liked her. Fuck, he really was a bit of a stereotype. Not as bad as Malik though. His small smile grew even with the thought of Malik. 

“Bakura?” Bakura looked up as Takashi called his name, and followed her out of the waiting room without needing to be told. She smiled at him as she led him to her room. “You seem happier than usual. Did you have a good week?”

“Yeah.” Bakura grinned and plopped into his armchair. “I met up with someone I used to know, and we ended up hooking up.”

“That sounds good.” Takashi smiled and eased into her own chair. “Was it a one-night thing?”

“Nah.” Bakura shook his head. Neither of them were a fan of one-night stands, it turned out. “We’re… dating I think.” The concept still seemed so foreign, but it left a smile on his face. “I honestly feel a lot better than I have in a long time.”

Takashi nodded slowly. “This is Marik that you’re talking about, I assume?” She asked. “The one you met during Battle City?”

“That’s him.” Bakura’s grin grew a little. “He, uh… He’s moved back to Domino, at least for a while, and he ran into my brother. We went out for coffee and just… reconnected I guess.”

“Has he changed?”

“A lot,” Bakura confirmed. “He used to be… bratty as hell, and yeah he’s still a bit of a brat, but in an… in an acceptable way.” He paused to think about it. “He used to mean it. Now I think he mainly just uses his brattiness for humour more than anything.”

“And he’s less manipulative?”

Bakura nodded. “He’s worked on it, and I think he’s actively trying not to manipulate people. He’s even going to counselling - I think here. I’m not sure.”

“It sounds like he’s getting himself under control.” Takashi managed to smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “What about you? How are you doing outside of Marik coming back?”

“Good.” Bakura nodded. “I think him coming back helped a lot, because my productivity went up too.” He’d gotten more work done in the past week than in the month previously. 

“That’s brilliant.” Takashi crossed her legs. “But it really sounds as though you’re pinning a lot of your high on Marik.”

Bakura shook his head. “I don’t think this is a high.”

Takashi raised an eyebrow. “What do you think it is?”

“I think… what I had before was just a low.” Bakura leaned back in his chair. “I feel… normal again, I guess. I just think that this is more permanent than what I used to feel.”

Now Takashi looked a little tense, her forehead creasing into a frown. “Bakura, you have been diagnosed with depression-”

“But I could have been exaggerating,” Bakura pointed out. He did that a lot when he hit a low. “I mightn’t have even known it.”

“I don’t think you were.” Takashi bridged her fingers. “We don’t prescribe any clients medication unless we think that it’s the right option for them and that there isn’t really another valid option-”

“I’m fine,” Bakura insisted. “I’ve stopped taking them.”

Takashi licked her lips. “How long were you on them?”

“A week and a half.” Bakura shrugged. “So no harm done. And it’s not like I’ll face withdrawals after that either.” 

“I-” Takashi sighed. “Bakura, were you not asked to stay on them for at least three weeks to see how you reacted to them?”

“There’s no point,” Bakura insisted. “I’ve been coming here twice a week for nearly a month, and it’s been working. I’m fine now. I was just… in a bad place when I came here, and now I’m not.”

“Your bad place seems to hit you frequently enough that it’s a problem.” Takashi leaned forward in her seat. “Now this is ultimately your decision, but I don’t think depression is your only issue. You display very clear symptoms of CPTSD and an anxiety disorder, and I think you may be on the autistic spectrum, but I don’t want to diagnose you with any of those without spending a little more time with you first.” She caught his eyes. “And you’re not doing yourself any favours by quitting your anti-depressants.”

Bakura ground his teeth together. “I’m fine,” he hissed. “I don’t need anti-depressants.” Not when he was doing this well. All they did was give him more nervous energy than he knew what to do with when he first took them, and feel like there was something innately wrong with him. Like he was a freak. “I don’t want to take them - and I don’t want a diagnosis in any of that shit.”

“I think you should go for them,” Takashi urged. “Even if you choose not to do anything with the information - just for your own peace of mind. I can diagnose you with an anxiety disorder and CPTSD if you have it, but to be diagnosed with autism, you need to take a screening test. That’s something I can’t do with you.” 

Anxiety. Autism. Depression. CPTSD. It all just added up to more and more things wrong with him, abnormal, freakish. “I don’t,” he repeated, “want it.” He stood up. He couldn’t do this. “I need to go.”

“Bakura, we have another forty minutes left-”

“I need to go.” He sped towards the door. 

Takashi stood up. “I’ll wait here,” she called after him, “if you need to come back. I’ll be here until the hour ends.” He yanked open the door. “Call when you want to make another appointment.”

Bakura slammed the door shut behind him and stormed out of the building. He twisted and stuck his middle finger up, as though the building itself was offending him. He didn’t really care if anyone saw him, but they largely kept their wooden blinds half-closed, so it was unlikely. 

He turned his back on it and began walking again. Fuck them. He was fucking fine and he didn’t need their stupid medications or diagnoses. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, and in what seemed like five minutes, he was home. He was out of breath, a wheeze caught in his chest, but when he thought back, he could remember the twenty five minute walk relatively clearly. 

See? Fine. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as though to challenge the wheeze. There was nothing wrong with him, and he didn’t fucking need them. Ryou was wrong. Takashi was wrong. He was fine, and Malik had helped him see that he was only having some low times. He was fine. He didn’t need that bullshit, paying thousands of yen every time he needed- no, _wanted_ to chat to someone. 

He just needed to stay with Malik for a little bit longer, to stabilise himself. After that, he could take care of himself again, and his lows would become less frequent, and he’d be able to work, and shop, and do chores consistently and stay productive. That would happen in a few days, he was sure of it. Because he was fine.

He was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys liked this chapter. Please review if you did, and I'll see you next week! I might update Thursday because I have a test on Wednesday but not entirely sure yet.


	6. Chapter 06 | Get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Sorry this is late - exam season. Next week's shouldn't be late, and I'll try to update twice as a thanks for being patient with me. Hope you enjoy!

**CW: NSFW, nightmare, panic attack, dissociation, phantom pains, drunk Bakura and Malik**

* * *

 

Bakura laughed, stumbling over air as they walked home. “Okay, okay, but you really-?” Malik's coat was draped over him to shield him from the chill.

“Yup.” Malik nodded, a tipsy smile on his face. “And Rishid walked in.”

“Holy shit,” Bakura cackled, clutching his ribs. He staggered into Malik, and the other wrapped an arm around his waist. “I can’t believe he walked in on you reading Drarry fanfiction - what the fuck?” He shook his head, still grinning. “At least have some fucking taste. Wolfstar is better.”

“Oh shut up,” Malik scoffed, giving Bakura a small squeeze. “I’m surprised you even know the pairing names.”

Bakura paused on the path, narrowing his eyes up at Malik. He didn’t look annoyed - more like he couldn’t see properly. “Are you kidding?” He stuffed his right hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his keys to Ryou’s apartment. A Hogwarts key-chain held the keys together. “Fucking love it. It took me ages to read the books though - in the end I think I just got the audio ones.”

“Shit.” Malik grinned. “I didn’t think you’d be into kids’ books.”

“Oh fuck you.” 

Malik’s eyes landed on Bakura’s keyring again and frowned. Then his eyes brightened and he laughed. “Is that a Hufflepuff keyring?” Bakura shoved his keys back into his pocket. “You’re a _Hufflepuff_?”

“Hey, Hufflepuffs-” Bakura pointed up at Malik, waving his finger until it was directly in front of the taller man’s nose. “-are great finders. Nothing wrong with being in Hufflepuff.” Malik still laughed. “Oh shut up - I’ll bet you’re just a Slytherin.”

Malik stopped laughing and frowned. “What’s wrong with being in Slytherin? Slytherins are great.”

“I knew it.” Bakura lurched forward and Malik caught him. “Damn it, I didn’t even drink that much.”

“It was the shots.” Malik began walking again. “Come on - let’s get you some water.” His apartment was closer, and there was less of a chance of being disturbed by Ryou, so they went there. “But seriously, what’s wrong with Slytherin?”

“Nothing,” Bakura insisted. Malik raised an eyebrow. “No, really. Nothing. I just find it funny that I was right.” He reached up and tapped Malik’s nose as they made their way into the hotel. The receptionist smiled at them, and Bakura gave her a nod.

Malik chewed his lip as he called the elevator with the push of a button. He couldn’t see the old Bakura being in Hufflepuff - the one that was in the ring - but now… now he could. He didn’t know why. Maybe because he was more expressive, and liked hot chocolate, and split a dessert with Malik that night. 

The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. Malik pressed the button for his floor and leaned against the wall as the elevator began to move. “You’re a good Hufflepuff,” he decided. “It suits you.”

“Yeah.” Bakura grinned. “Slytherin suits you too.”

Malik returned the grin. “Hufflepuffs and Slytherins are meant to get on well together anyway, so at least there’s that.”

Bakura snorted. “We don’t get on. We argue.” Malik paused, and had to agree. There was no point in proving Bakura’s point by arguing with him. 

The elevator stopped and Malik led Bakura to his room. The cleaners had been in, so the bed was made, curtains drawn, and dishes washed. 

Bakura stared around the room and flopped onto the bed. “Damn.”

“It’s not that big.”

“Your kitchen is nearly bigger than Ryou’s apartment.”

It was an exaggeration, though the bedroom and bathroom probably _were_ bigger than the apartment. It was a bit excessive, but Malik did enjoy the finer things in life. “Wait there,” he sighed, “and I’ll get you some water.”

When he returned with two pint glasses of water, Bakura was lying on his back, lazily tracing patterns in the air. He sat up to take the glass from Malik and swallowed a few generous mouthfuls before setting the glass aside. He yawned. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“How come?” Malik raised an eyebrow. It didn’t sound like Bakura wanted to do something more fun either, by the tone in his voice. 

Bakura just shrugged. “I just don’t like sleeping right now,” he admitted. “It’s hard.” His nose scrunched up. “That made no sense.”

Malik chuckled and drained his glass. “That’s usually a sign that you need more sleep.” He wiped his mouth and slid his shoes off. Bakura followed his example, untying his boots. “You don’t have to work tomorrow, right?”

“I do,” Bakura admitted, tugging one boot off, “but not until the afternoon, so I can stay for a while.”

“Good.” Malik fell silent, and neither spoke as they stripped down to their underwear and crawled under the blankets. The air conditioning cooled the room to the point where Malik didn’t get too hot under the covers. 

Bakura curled into him, nuzzling into Malik’s chest. “Thanks for dinner tonight,” he muttered. “It was nice.”

“It was.” Malik kissed the top of Bakura’s head. He didn’t… do this often. The cuddling and dinner. 

He didn’t date often, but it was easier with Bakura than any potential partner he’d had before. It was easier to talk to him, and that might have been because they both had been under the influence of an Item, or it could have been something else, but either way, it was easier. 

Bakura hummed and ran his thumb up and down Malik’s wrist. “Do I have to sleep?” He was still probably a little drunk.

“Yeah.” Malik gave Bakura a small squeeze. “But it’s okay. You can wake me up when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Bakura looked up at Malik, squinting again.

Malik leaned down and pressed a small kiss to Bakura’s lips. “I promise. Now c lose your eyes already.” Bakura huffed through his nose, but lowered his head again and closed his eyes.

Malik couldn’t help but stare at the way the moonlight shone through the window, setting Bakura’s hair alight in a fire of white and silver. They hadn’t closed the curtains, and with this view, he didn’t want to. Sunlight sounded like a problem that future Malik could deal with. 

Present Malik just rested his chin on Bakura’s head and let his eyes fall closed as well. 

* * *

Bakura was always a light sleeper, so when Malik twitched, his eyes snapped open. He didn’t think anything of it for a few seconds - a lot of people shifted in their sleep - but then Malik covered his mouth and pushed himself up. Bakura sat up as well. “You okay?” He mumbled.

Malik shook his head. His shoulders were heaving, and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

Bakura hesitated, then touched Malik’s arm. Malik flinched. “What’s wrong?” Malik just shook his head again. “Do you need more light?” After a moment, he nodded. Bakura reached over and turned the lights strung to the bottom of the wall and their bed on, so it didn’t blind them but Malik would feel more comfortable. “Was it a nightmare?”

Malik sniffed, and a muffled sob reached Bakura’s ears. “M-My back,” he whispered. It echoed behind his hands, like he was in a cave. Bakura had to strain to hear him. “It’s b- It’s-” Burning.

Bakura drew Malik closer to him, careful not to touch his back. Not yet. It wasn’t a good idea yet. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re safe.” They were empty words, and he knew it. “What’s your name?” Malik sniffled again and shook his head, hiding his face in Bakura’s shoulder. Bakura’s arms tightened around him. “What’s your name?” 

He repeated. He thought he heard a muffled response. It sounded like it began with ‘Ma’ but ended with a soft ‘r’ instead of a harder ‘k’. It didn’t matter. 

Bakura smoothed his hands along the small of Malik’s back, murmuring soft assurances under his breath. His hands felt warm, and he let his eyes close. Focus. He relaxed his shoulders and let the heat spread across his body.

Malik’s breath hitched as the warmth continued into his body, his back, but he didn’t move. Bakura slowly ran his hands up Malik’s back. The other man didn’t protest. The dips and bumps on his skin were chapped, like he hadn’t been taking care of them recently. Bakura’s eyes tightened a little and he began massaging the heat into Malik’s back.

For a little bit, neither spoke. Malik had stopped crying, and the trembles wracking his body had ceased, but Bakura didn’t move his hands. Malik shifted in his lap. “What are you doing?” He whispered.

Bakura opened his eyes and pulled back a little. Malik was looking at him. “You back?” Malik nodded. “That’s good.” He moved one hand away from Malik’s back to cup his cheek. “I was worried.”

Malik leaned into his hand, but he still looked curious. “What are you doing?” He repeated. “With your hands?”

“I don’t know,” Bakura admitted after a beat. “It’s called heka, but I don’t know how it works. I just know it does work.” He hesitated. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Malik reached behind him and grabbed Bakura’s wrist, pressing the other’s hand harder against his skin. It felt a little less bumpy now. “Please don’t.”

“Okay.” Bakura pressed a kiss to Malik’s collar bone and moved both hands to the top of his back. Malik hummed softly. “If you want to lie down, I can give you a proper massage. It might help.” After a moment, Malik nodded and moved out of Bakura’s lap. He lay down on his stomach, and Bakura moved to straddle his hips to get better access to his back. “Is this okay?”

Malik nodded, resting his head sideways on folded arms. Bakura spread his hands over Malik’s back, and began working out any knots of tension he could find. Most of it seemed to be centered in his neck, so he did his best to massage that area most. 

Malik hid his face in his arms. “Is it good?” Bakura checked. Malik nodded, and a muffled groan escaped him as Bakura unwound another knot. Bakura chewed his lip, his dick hardening. He shifted slightly, hoping Malik couldn’t feel it. “I didn’t know if you’d like having your back touched.”

“I don’t,” Malik sighed. He sounded a little breathy. “Not normally.”

Bakura grinned. “So I’m the exception?” Malik just hummed. 

Bakura found another knot, and Malik moaned. Just outright moaned. “Lift up a bit,” he forced out. Bakura blinked a few times and obliged. Malik twisted under him so he could grab the back of Bakura’s head and pull him into a rough kiss.

Bakura groaned, one hand leaning on Malik’s shoulder for balance. He pulled back after a second. “Malik-”

“Bakura.” Malik raised an eyebrow, very clearly displeased with the fact that they weren’t making out. 

Bakura groaned and ran a hand over his face. “You were just crying a few minutes ago. I don’t think this-”

“It’s fine,” Malik insisted. “I need a distraction.” He pulled Bakura a little closer. “So unless you’re uncomfortable with something, fucking kiss me.”

He couldn’t say that he was uncomfortable with anything in that scenario - not beyond Malik not being up for sex. “Are you sure?”

Malik rolled his eyes and smashed their lips together again. Their teeth clicked and Bakura moaned as Malik bit his lip. Fuck it. Malik turned properly, pulling Bakura into his lap. The massage had left him hard as well, which was some bit of consolation to counter the embarrassment Bakura had been facing earlier. 

Malik’s hands twisted in Bakura’s hair, pulling as their hips rocked together. It felt good, but not like when he had bitten Bakura’s neck.

As if reading his mind, that’s where Malik set his sights next, sucking at the side of his throat as though the bruise would actually show on his skin. Bakura’s head fell back and he moaned, gripping Malik’s shoulders tighter. He vaguely remembered what he was meant to be doing and channelled his heka again to smooth his hands over Malik’s back. Malik whined - actually _whined_ \- against his throat. One of his hands reached down, slipping into Bakura’s boxers.

They didn’t have lube, so they couldn’t exactly have sex in the way Bakura was longing to at the moment - he was literally aching for Malik to fuck him - but this was an acceptable compromise, especially with Malik still sucking his neck. “Malik,” he gasped. “Fu-fucking-” He grit his teeth as Malik wrapped his hand around Bakura’s cock. 

“Yes?” Malik hummed against his collarbone, and Bakura knew the asshole was just doing it as a power move. “What do you want?” His hand stilled. 

No, no, no. Bakura rolled his hips up, then down on Malik’s cock. “Don’t stop,” he hissed, “or I swear to gods-”

“Ask nicely.” Malik lifted his head to smirk at Bakura. His eyes were narrowed, just as amused as his tone, and Bakura’s dick throbbed. 

“Please,” Bakura forced out, rutting his hips against Malik’s. “Please make me cum.” Malik’s hand tightened around him and he ran his thumb over Bakura’s slit.

He wasn’t that experienced, and he hadn’t been sleeping with many people since he came back, so he didn’t last long, even without Malik slamming into him. “You look like you’re enjoying this,” Malik commented, nipping Bakura’s earlobe.

“Fuck yes,” Bakura choked out. He rolled his hips down on Malik’s hard-on. “Gods, please-” Malik twisted his wrist and Bakura’s hips jerked faster. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Malik’s hand around him felt way too good- At that moment, his entire story of being ripped out of the shadows and dropped back on Earth in an issue-filled body seemed worth it, and warmth spread across his body. His nails dug into Malik’s shoulder. “Fuck-”

“Are you close?” Malik breathed. Bakura buried his face into Malik’s shoulder and moaned the other’s name in lieu of a more verbal response. “That’s right.” Malik bit his neck again. “Say it again.” 

“Fuck, fuck- fuck! Malik! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-!” Malik moved his hand faster, and a minute later, he was cumming. Once he had ridden out his orgasm, he slumped against Malik’s chest, out of breath.

Malik, of course, wiped his hand on Bakura’s boxers. 

“Asshole,” Bakura huffed, still a little out of breath.

“You’re the one who made a mess.” Malik smirked again.

Bakura just wanted to wipe that fucking smirk off his face. He moved his hands down Malik’s back to his ass and squeezed. Malik’s face tightened as he tried not to moan. “Want me to return the favour?”

“Obviously,” Malik huffed. He had probably been expecting Bakura to jerk him off, so when he slipped off the bed to the floor, Malik’s eyes widened. 

“Is this okay?” Bakura checked, pulling Malik’s boxers away. 

Malik’s fingers wound their way into Bakura’s hair again. “Fuck yes.”

Bakura dabbed his tongue out, teasing the head of Malik’s cock, eyes flicking up to him. Malik’s face was darker than usual, his eyes a little hazy. Good. Bakura wanted to distract him, just like Malik had told him to. After enough licks to lube Malik’s shaft, Bakura wrapped his lips around it and plunged down. He was just as wickedly thick as Bakura remembered from their previous encounter, and he couldn’t quite fit his entire cock down his throat, but he went down until he felt the back of his throat open. Malik didn’t seem to mind. His grip in Bakura’s hair tightened, and the latter allowed him to control the pace. 

Bakura wrapped one hand around Malik’s base to keep him steady and used the other to toy with his balls. Malik’s lips were pursed and a muted _mmm_ escaped his mouth. The more Bakura moved, the more his mouth watered, until Malik was slick enough for the friction on Bakura’s lips to hardly bother him anymore. 

He curled in over Bakura, grip forcing the other to stay in pretty much the same place, so he sucked hard, flicking his tongue up the sides of Malik’s dick. He snuck his hands around to Malik’s back again, eyes closed to try and focus on sucking and commanding his heka at the same time. 

Malik moaned, “Bakura.” It was so soft, Bakura nearly missed it, and he nearly gagged when the rush of heat hit him when Malik came. He held his breath and swallowed, pulling back with a grin. Malik panted slightly for breath, cracking open an eye to look at his partner. “You’re terrible.”

“I know.” Bakura winked and wiped his chin dry. “You’re a mess.”

“You’re one to talk.” Malik smiled and pulled Bakura back up onto the bed. He fell back, landing among the pillows again with Bakura on his chest.

Bakura grimaced. “Hang on.” He pulled away from Malik and grabbed a pair of boxers from the drawer.

Malik propped himself up on his elbows. “Excuse me, did I say you could steal my clothes?”

“Did I say you could wipe fucking cum over mine?” Bakura shot back as he stripped. He grabbed a few tissues from the box on the dresser to clean himself up.

“I didn’t hear you complaining.” Malik grinned.

“Yeah, well, now I am so I’m stealing one pair.” Bakura pulled on the boxers and climbed back onto the bed. “I’m sure you can spare it.”

Malik hummed and pulled the blanket over them again. “Perhaps.” He sighed as he was pulled against Bakura’s chest. “Thanks.”

Bakura just kissed the top of Malik’s head. “Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Probably.” Malik drew a random, sleepy pattern on Bakura’s stomach. It made Bakura a little self-conscious. Malik had abs of fucking granite; Bakura had a tummy that slouched over his jeans and made him nervous in tight shirts. Malik smiled and pressed a kiss to his chest. “Thanks,” he repeated.

Bakura returned the smile and held him closer. “No problem.” He let his eyes slip closed. He didn’t bother to turn off the lights again. Malik wouldn’t sleep without them.

“Will you show me how to use heka?” Malik asked softly after a few minutes. “And my ka?”

Bakura scoffed. “I didn’t know that I could still use mine.” The silence filled the space between them for a few seconds. “But sure. We’ll need to go somewhere quiet.”

“There’s a forest up the mountain,” Malik mumbled. “We could go up there for the day.”

“Camping?”

“Fuck no. I like my luxuries.”

Bakura chuckled. “Alright, I’ll get a day off this weekend and we’ll go up the mountain,” he promised. “Now go to sleep.”

* * *

As promised, Bakura took that Saturday off to go climb a fucking mountain with Malik. Ryou had said he would come too, but when Bakura checked in on him that morning, his landlord had been curled around a hot water bottle, still under the covers. Bakura did his best not to wake him as he left.

He met Malik at the bus stop and they slumped against each other, still half asleep, for the entire ride out. Morning light filtered through the dirty windows, patches lighting up Malik’s hair, turning it to a pale gold. Bakura smiled as he watched. He had been feeling a little down, but this helped.

Malik caught him staring and smiled. “What?”

Bakura shook his head, settling back into Malik’s side again. “Nothing.” He liked this too much. They were moving far too fast. He let his eyes slip closed and dosed for the rest of the way - or tried to at least. Maybe he should go back- no. He didn’t need to do that. He didn’t want to take pills.

“Hey.” Malik carefully shook Bakura’s shoulder as the bus slowed. “Come on. This is our stop.”

Bakura groaned and dragged himself out of his seat to grab their bags. “You’re useless, you know that?” He complained as they climbed out of the bus. “I can’t believe you brought a fucking kanken bag hiking.”

“You know I live for the aesthetic.” Malik winked and took his bag off Bakura.

Bakura huffed. “You’re so fucking basic. You could be an honorary member of the Basic White Girls club.”

“I’m neither white nor a girl.”

“That’s why I said honorary.” Bakura hooked his own bag onto his shoulder - his _proper fucking bag_ that wasn’t built purely for the aesthetic. “What did you even bring? Ryou cooked.”

Malik shrugged. “I found a few scrolls that might help us.” He smiled. “And a blanket. I knew you’d forget.”

“That’s cause I won’t need one.” Bakura grinned and grabbed Malik’s hand. “Come on.”

Malik glanced down at their joined hands as Bakura led him away from the road. There was a small log cabin that had guides for paying tourists, but even if they weren’t going to try to summon creatures that would now be considered ungodly, Bakura wouldn’t have wanted to go in. He didn’t like it. 

Malik didn’t speak until they were already climbing the hill. “You’re a lot more physical than I expected.”

Bakura’s face heated up and he pulled his hand away. He hadn’t even thought of it. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Malik took Bakura’s had again. A leaf floated down past Bakura’s ear. The sunlight landed on their skin in dappled inconsistencies, shifting whenever the wind moved branches. “I just didn’t expect it when I met you.”

“The first or second time?”

“Second obviously.” Malik rolled his eyes. He had to squint and blink a few times - he must have looked at the sun. 

Bakura hummed and ran his thumb over Malik’s finger. “I was always pretty physical with my family,” he admitted, “when I was young. I was an only child, but I had dozens of cousins and we were always wrestling and shit, and there was always people and casual contact, and then it just… went away.” He shrugged. “It’s nice now. Knowing that I can actually touch some people.” No one had touched him for years - before he had come into contact with the Ring. No one wanted to even brush against the cursed child with death-white hair. 

Malik sighed through his nose and lifted Bakura’s hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “Did you win much?”

Bakura’s lip quirked up. “Nah,” he snorted. “I got my ass kicked. I was a scrawny little shit.” He shook his head. “But I tried every day.” They walked the rest of the way in silence - Bakura didn’t know why people always used jogs or hill walks for exposition in films. This was fucking hard and he could barely breathe, let alone talk. 

Even Malik seemed to struggle with the slopes, and they had to stop about halfway up.

“I think here should be okay,” Malik panted, leaning forward. “There’s still enough trees to hide us.”

Bakura grunted and dropped to his ass, not caring if the grass stained his jeans. “Let’s eat first,” he muttered. He wasn’t even sure if he could call Diabound, let alone teach Malik how to summon his ka - he needed fuel. 

Malik nodded and pulled the blanket out of his stupid kanken bag. He laid it out and Bakura reluctantly shifted to sit with him on it. If it was there, he may as well.

He pulled out two small tupperware containers and forks, passing one of each to Malik. Curry again. Bakura couldn’t complain, because it didn’t have chickpeas and his had meat, but he wanted something other than cold curry to eat.

He chewed his way through the food in silence, staring at the narrow stream that ran down the hill a few feet away from them. 

“Are you okay?” Malik asked after a few minutes. He grimaced every time he took a bite, and Bakura remembered too late that Malik hated cold sauces. 

“I’m fine.” Aside from the guilt settling in his stomach - why did it fucking matter if he forgot? He’d only met the asshole again two weeks ago. 

“Nervous?”

Bakura didn’t bother to deign that with a response. Of course he was fucking nervous. He took a slow breath and shovelled the last mouthfuls of his food into his mouth. Once he’d swallowed, he shoved the container back into his bag. 

“I’m going to try,” he mumbled. His stomach churned and he told himself it was the food; he’d eaten too quickly. He let his eyes slide closed.

“Are you going to teach me?”

“Damn it, let me-” He took another breath. “Yeah, okay.” He opened his eyes again. “I learned by meditating, okay? So just… do that.”

Malik frowned at him and set his own half-eaten lunch to the side. “Just do it? How?”

“Close your eyes and focus on the energy in your body.” Bakura shrugged, crossing his legs. “You’re looking for… a name, I guess. It’s like trying to remember something - you just have to let it come to you.”

“Real helpful,” Malik muttered but closed his eyes. 

Bakura mimicked his actions and settled into his usual position - legs crossed, back straight, hands planted flat on the ground. Focus.

He could feel the energy rushing through his body, but it took him a few minutes to channel it again. It was harder than the other night - neither of them needed it now, and even with the anxiety pumping adrenaline through his veins, Bakura couldn’t kid himself into believing he was in danger. 

Finally, he managed to focus it in his core and whispered, “Diabound.”

Malik gasped.

Bakura’s eyes shot open and he nearly cried. Diabound twisted in the sky above them, barely hidden by the cover of the trees. Her skin was still tainted green-grey, but it was far better than the putrid, acidic colour she had been the last time he saw her. 

“Gods,” Malik breathed. He stared up at her with wide, enraptured eyes. 

“She was white,” Bakura whispered, “like the moon.” Malik looked over at him. “She looks sick.” He called her back. He couldn’t look at her.

“But she’s better,” Malik pointed out, “right? Ryou told me that she looked black when he made her figure.”

Bakura nodded, but a shaky hand still came up to clutch at his shirt. “She should be _better_.”

“She’s getting there.” Malik rolled up onto his knees and crawled closer to cup Bakura’s face. “Just like you.” Bakura met his gaze. “You went through thousands of years of pain - you can’t expect you or your soul to be completely recovered yet.”

Bakura sniffed and looked away. “You sound like my fucking counsellor.” He knew she’d have said the same thing- well, if she knew. But she didn’t. That was the point. And she wouldn’t know. Bakura was never going back to her. “I just-” He shook his head. “She was a holy ka. She was fucking holy, and- and the damn Pharaoh- he never even-” He slammed his eyes shut. “He wouldn’t listen.” He probably shouldn’t have dragged Atem’s father into the throne room, wearing his gold, but he wanted to show him what it fucking felt like.

Malik wound his arms around Bakura, pulling him closer. “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “They were so far up their own asses that they didn’t realise one of their own priests was corrupt. It’s okay to be pissed at them.”

This went beyond pissed, but when Malik put it like that, Bakura smiled against his arm. “I guess.” He pulled away. “Come on. Did you get the name?”

Malik scowled and shook his head. “I keep thinking of other things, and then I try to focus, but I’m focusing too much on not thinking.”

Bakura rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re overthinking this.” He chewed his bottom lip. “Okay, I saw this work for one or two people but you’re going to need to trust me.” After a second, Malik nodded. “Diabound.” 

Malik barely had time to roll out of the way as Diabound reappeared, rushing at him. “What the fuck?”

“Defend yourself!” Bakura snapped as Malik scrambled to his feet.

His eyes were wide and he jumped aside as Diabound rushed at him again. Her tail caught Malik’s stomach and he stumbled. Bakura had to stop himself from running to check on him. Malik had wanted to do this. 

Diabound twisted up above him and dove. Malik flattened himself on the ground and she missed, but swiped at him. Malik’s eyes squeezed shut and for a second, Bakura thought he’d gone too far.

“Kek!”

Diabound’s attack was blocked. She hadn’t been going full strength - if she had, Bakura was fairly certain that Malik’s ka would have been wiped out, even with him being out of practice.

Diabound pulled back and Malik pushed himself up. His ka was tall, a knight with armour that had a rose-gold tint to the black, warming it, and his face was left uncovered, along with his hands. His skin was as dark as the night. His eyes shone, gold like stars, and he held a knight’s lance in his hand. His face itself was broad, a thick jaw and nose, almost like Rishid’s. He had a third eye, golden like his regular ones, but almost like it was painted on his forehead. An eye of Horus. His hair streamed down his back like black velvet.

“Is that-” Malik’s breath caught in his throat.

Bakura nodded. “Your ka,” he confirmed. “Kek.” Diabound settled a little beside him. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Malik looked worried. “Yours is so bright-”

Bakura shook his head. “Kas are all different,” he murmured. “Yours isn’t holy, but he’s damn fucking close to it.” 

Malik relaxed. “His armour- I thought-”

“No.” Bakura shook his head. “Black isn’t an evil colour.” He grinned. “Besides, his name’s Dawn Bringer.” 

“Shut up, Sunrise,” Malik shot back. His heart wasn’t in the jab though - he was still caught up, staring at his ka.

Bakura let out a slow breath. “Do you want to try training with them a little?” He asked. “We could get them to fight?” He didn’t want to. Not really.

Thankfully, Malik shared his sentiments. “No. I don’t want to watch them fighting.” Diabound moved a little closer to Kek and shoved him. He stumbled and dragged her into the stream. “Wait- I didn’t-”

“They’re just playing.” Bakura wasn’t sure that he liked what that meant. Kas rarely played. But he loved the bright smile on Malik’s face.

“Can you show me some other stuff while they’re doing that?”

“Like the heka?” Bakura raised an eyebrow, and Malik nodded. “It’ll take some concentration. Are you sure you’re up for it, Mr. ADHD?”

“I don’t have ADHD.” Malik rolled his eyes and walked back over to Bakura. Bakura frowned and reached out, placing his hand over Malik’s stomach. “I’m fine.”

“Still.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“You were just trying to help.”

“I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

Malik wound his arms around Bakura again, pulling the other against his chest. “Tell you what,” he murmured. “If you show me how to heal myself with heka, it won’t be an issue. Alright?”

Bakura sighed. “I guess that’s a fair compromise.” He shook his head. “But don’t expect me to stab myself again just so you can heal it.”

Malik grinned. “Not even a little?”

“No stabbing.”

By the time the sun was beginning to set, Bakura and Malik had finished training and were making their way back down the mountain. They had called Kek and Diabound back, both to save their energy for the walk down, and to avoid freaking anyone out as they got closer to the road. 

“Thanks for today,” Malik murmured as they reached the bus stop. Bakura just hummed as he checked the timetable. They would only have to wait a few minutes. “I mean it.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Bakura glanced up at him. “Seriously. I enjoyed it too. And I missed Diabound.” He couldn’t really miss her - she was a part of his soul - and yet he had. Finding out that he could still summon Diabound had helped. He wasn’t sure how, but it had helped. 

“You really haven’t tried summoning her before now?” Malik tilted his head.

Bakura shook his head. “Never needed to.” He dropped onto the narrow plastic bench beneath the bus stop. “I think I was scared of not being able to call her,” he mumbled, “or her being the same colour as before.”

Malik watched him. “Then why did you agree to show me,” he asked, “if you were scared? What changed?”

Bakura leaned his head back. “You were there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I wanted to give them a little bit of happier shit so Diabound returns. I wanted to have Malik have a darkish ka because of his aversion to it (and also he doesn't get a holy ka lol) but it also needed to represent his soul, so I figured that would work. So yeah! Please review and see you nerds soon.


	7. Chapter 07 | Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura: I have a lot of issues that I want fixed, how do I do that?  
> Everyone: Go to therapy and learn how to do it.  
> Bakura: :O

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I've officially finished my first semester of college and my last exam! I think I've passed them all. Hopefully. Anyway, sorry this is a touch late - I crashed today and just didn't want to move, so I binge read a bunch of BNHA fics. That's honestly bordering on becoming a special interest for me, woops. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

**CW: Mentions of physically abusive partner, spiralling, excessive drinking, period discussion, sensory overload, intrusive thoughts, dissociation/depersonalisation**

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re inviting Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee over,” Bakura complained as Ryou scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the table with glasses, alcohol, chips, dip, and various other snacks.

“I wasn’t up to make a campaign this week,” Ryou protested, “and as much as you don’t like him, Atem writes a fucking good one.” 

_ That _ , Bakura couldn’t deny. It almost made games night with the Pharaoh tolerable. “Couldn’t he just give the campaign to Yugi and let him DM? I don’t want to deal with him tonight.”

“Then you don’t need to play.” Ryou his eyebrows, looking up at Bakura from his board. “But I am. I’ve been working hard all week and I fucking deserve the break.” He shook his head. “Besides, Mai’s coming over.”

That made Bakura perk up a little. Mai was probably the only one of Ryou’s immediate friends that he could stand aside from Yugi. The twerp wasn’t so bad when the Pharaoh was removed from his hip. “Why didn’t you say that first?”

Ryou snorted. “Because I didn’t want you texting her and figuring out a way to completely wreck Atem’s storyline.”

“I would never-” Bakura protested. Ryou raised an eyebrow. “-Okay, first of all, it happened once, second of all, fuck you.”

“I don’t think Malik would like it very much if you did.” Ryou grinned, then winced and clutched his stomach.

Bakura grimaced. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ryou muttered. After a second, he released his stomach, though stiffly. “I just need a painkiller.”

“You’ve already had a tramadal today,” Bakura protested. “That’ll fuck you up if you drink.” Ryou rolled his eyes. Bakura leaned back against the wall, chewing his tongue. “Besides, you’ve had worse.”

“I swear to fucking gods,” Ryou hissed, “I’m not in the mood for a joke about the Ring right now.” Bakura fell silent, and Ryou sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help.”

Bakura shook his head. “Don’t be. It was a bad time.” It was always a bad time - he didn’t know why he bothered trying to make those jokes seem funny anymore. He yawned. “Eat something first at least.”

Ryou sighed. “No, you’re right. I’ll leave it until tomorrow.”

“You should eat anyway.”

“Like you’re one to talk about properly taking care of yourself.” Ryou pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. Sorry.”

Bakura frowned. “Are you sure you’re up for tonight?”

“Yeah,” Ryou sighed, “I just… this hasn’t happened in a few months. I’m just out of sorts.” 

Bakura managed a small nod. “Is the testosterone not working?”

“No, it is.” Ryou wandered over to the table and lowered himself into one of the cushioned chairs. “Some people just get an irregular period now and then anyway.”

Bakura managed another small nod. “Do you have pads? I can run down to the store and get them for you.” Ryou probably would have felt too uncomfortable to go himself.

Ryou chewed his lip. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he muttered after a minute. “I had a few shoved down the back of the press, but-”

“It’s fine.” Bakura grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch. “What kind?”

“Whatever nighttime ones have the most little droplet things on the side.” Ryou leaned his elbows on the table and checked his phone. “Would you get some vodka too? Yugi’s got a drinking game he wants to do.”

“Sure.” Bakura tugged on a pair of shoes.

Ryou leaned back in the chair a little bit. He seemed a little easier now. “Are you sure you don’t want to invite Malik tonight?”

He did. But he didn’t want to admit it. Not to Ryou, and not to himself. Malik wouldn’t want to come anyway - not with Atem there. “I’m good,” he called. “I need a bit of… separate time I guess.” Ryou nodded. “Do you need anything else?” 

Ryou glanced back at the fridge. “Get some low dose painkillers. Knowing Yugi, I don’t have enough to go around for this drinking game.”

Bakura nodded and shrugged his jacket on. It had taken him a month to find a good red jacket, but it was worth it. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He slipped outside and down into the street. 

The nearest convenience store was just across the road and he made his way inside with his hands in his pockets. It was one of the few he never stole from - purely because it was near him, and he kind of liked the old lady who ran it. She was behind the counter again as he made his way over with two packets of pads and three of painkillers.

She whistled and scanned them. “Someone’s dying.”

“No kidding.” Bakura shoved the pads into his pocket and handed her a few hundred yen. “I think we’re doing drinking games tonight as well, so we’ll all be dead.”

“With the little one?” Bakura nodded and the lady grimaced. “Christ, son, don’t try to keep up with him. If I didn’t know better, from what you told me, I’d say he had Irish blood in him. Went there once - if you do, never drink as much as them. It’s in their blood. You won’t survive.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for when I never go on holiday.” Bakura took his change.

“Eh, you’ll get there when you’re not a student anymore.”

“I’m not even a student yet - you overestimate how long I’ll be living.” He had to wait another few months to get in - just until January. He pocketed his change and walked back to the house. An odd feeling was stuck in his gut, and he shook his head. He was fine. He didn’t need Malik to have a good night. He didn’t need Malik.

When he got back to the apartment, Yugi and Atem had arrived. He grunted a greeting and slouched into the kitchen to hide the pads from them, and to get a beer. Fuck the lady - he needed it.

He only emerged when he heard another knock on the door and Mai walked in, dressed in tight jeans and a sparkly shirt. “Got anything stronger than beer?”

“Not for you, sugartits.” Bakura shot her with his finger but passed her the vodka mix he had already made her. He drummed his fingers on the neck of his bottle. “Did you get my present?”

Mai snorted as she took a sip. “You mean the thirteen packets of stolen pads?” Bakura’s face heated up. “Yeah, I got them. A little weird, but needed, so thanks.”

Bakura grumbled and took another sip. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if Mai liked it or not. Why would he? 

She frowned a little. “Ryou said you were doing better.”

“Yeah.” Bakura shrugged. “I guess.” She didn’t say anything. “I’ve actually been going outside without nearly dying.” He took another sip. “And I’ve been-” How to put it? “-hanging out with Malik.”

Mai raised her eyebrows. “Hanging out, fucking, or actually dating?”

Bakura chewed his lip. “We went on a hike the other day.” 

“Holy shit.” She grinned. “You went on a date.”

“It was not a fucking date,” Bakura huffed. He definitely didn’t think about their picnic and how he had practically laid in Malik’s lap. He opened his mouth to explain exactly how it was  _ not a date _ , and then frowned. He reached up and grabbed her chin, tilting her head up. “You’re getting better at make-up.” Mai pulled her chin away. “Did anyone else notice?”

“Ryou gave me a ‘we’ll talk later’ look,” she muttered after a minute, “but the others didn’t.”

“Fucking oblivious cunts.” Bakura glared - not at her. He wasn’t sure who he was glaring at. “What’s the dickhead’s name?”

“Bakura-”

“I’m going to fuck him up.”

“Bakura, your five foot fuck ass could not hurt him.” Mai rolled her eyes and took a much bigger gulp of her drink. “Besides, I dumped him. If he comes near me again, I’m calling the police.”

“Yeah, cause they can do so much better than a wanted thief that fought the Pharaoh’s guards for ten years.” Bakura scowled. The make-up really was good. If the light hadn’t caught her cheek, he didn’t think he would have seen the purple discolouration under her eye. “I could stab him for you.”

“No stabbing.” Mai pointed at him. “And no bringing this up with the others. Agreed? I just want to enjoy the night - not talk about a shitty mistake.”

After a moment, Bakura grumbled his agreement and drained his beer. He needed another. His chest felt too tight and as he pulled one out of the fridge, he dug his nails into the palm of his free hand. He hated when Mai got like that. 

Thankfully, the forced small talk ended when Anzu and Miho walked in, and they all migrated to the board. Bakura still hated Atem, but fuck he  _ could  _ write a good campaign. He started it off in Domino during a zombie apocalypse and led them through a complicated way to try and end the apocalypse before any more civilians were turned. And they weren’t allowed to just kill civilians. Bakura checked. 

He had, of course, picked a thief. Ryou had chosen an elf, Miho a healer, Mai a ninja, and Yugi had taken the bard. He seemed to be working towards that one tumblr post that Bakura had sent him; ‘I fucked my way into this and I’m going to fuck my way out of it’. 

Bakura just kept disappearing down to McDonalds every time he had the chance, so between fights, they had to go get him, and whenever there was a fight going on, he was just ordering a Big Mac. It drove Atem up the wall enough that he had one of the zombies burn the McDonalds.

By the end of the night, Bakura was lying on the floor, giddy enough to laugh at nearly every attempt Yugi made to seduce something, and they finished up after the third boss at two a.m. - which Yugi also tried to seduce.

Once everyone was gone, the pit of ice started to form in his stomach again. Ryou knelt next to him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He murmured. “You seemed off again tonight.”

Bakura waved him off - physically. He physically waved his hand. “M’fine,” he slurred, “I jus’ need sleep.” He staggered to his feet and Ryou had to catch him to make sure he didn’t fall. “M’fine.”

“So you keep saying.” Ryou pursed his lips. “Bakura, you need to go back-”

Bakura stormed into his room and slammed the door before Ryou could even finish the sentence.

* * *

Bakura had been standing too close to him ever since they’d arrived at the market. Everyone was standing too close. They wouldn’t be if he- Malik shook his head. “You doing okay?” Bakura asked. He had to lean in even closer so Malik could hear him over the chatter of the people around them.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He was. He knew there was going to be a lot of people - it was the Saturday walking market. Bakura had  _ warned  _ him about the amount of people. Malik took a sip of the orange juice from the small bottle in his hand. It was still cold, condensation dripping down the plastic from the ice it had been kept in, numbing his hand.

“Is there anywhere you want to go?”

Home. No, he wasn’t meant to do that. He moved his drink to his other hand and wiped his palm on the sides of his pants. Bakura had promised to show him the market. 

“The temple is pretty nice if you need a break.” 

Malik just nodded again, and Bakura took his hand to lead him through the crowd. Malik definitely didn’t like it just because he needed something to squeeze. Someone bumped his shoulder and Bakura snarled a warning in their general direction. Malik tried to move a little faster but the crowd was blocking them.

Bakura squeezed his hand. Malik hardly processed it. Everything was too loud. Too many people crowded on the narrow streets between crappy table stalls with tarp rooves and tourist-y garbage for sale. Too many smells from the food stalls selling tofu, meat, seafood, curry, rice, chips, soda, crickets. Too much light coming from the fairylights strung up back-and-forth across the road, the streetlamps, the personal lights the vendors had brought. Too many sweaty tourists shouting in English, too many locals complaining about the tourists, too many people stopping to take photos, not noticing the people beside them, crashing into people. Too many.

“Bakura.” Malik pulled his hand. “Bakura, how far is the temple?”

After a moment, Bakura processed the question and acknowledged it with a grunt. “A few minutes.” Or maybe he had responded straight away. 

Everything felt muted. Like a transparent blanket had been thrown over him. The voices, the smells, the colours, all seemed distant.

“Is it quieter there?”

“Yeah; barely any tourists go there.” Everything but Bakura’s voice. 

Malik couldn’t breathe. He nodded. Quiet. Yes, quieter. It would be quieter. He needed quiet. He kept his gaze on the patchy grey road beneath his feet as they shuffled along, following the cracked yellow lines. If he raised it, the world would go red or black and he wasn’t sure which one was worse.

He flinched when Bakura finally pulled him in another direction - into the temple grounds. He could still hear them. All of them. Still too loud. 

Bakura didn’t stop moving once they were beyond the gate - he led Malik around the red-walled structure, behind the smaller white one with the golden roof and nagas crawling up the stairs, right through to the back gate. Only a few tattered houses stood there, pink and green and blue with patched wooden doors. 

“Is this better?”

Malik stared at Bakura. Strands of hair hung in his eyes, slightly obscuring the other’s already blurry face. “What?”

“Is this better?” Bakura repeated, squeezing Malik’s hand. Malik forced himself to nod. Even the air seemed too loud. “Take another drink.”

Malik did, but the taste was too much. He sank down onto the ground, crossing his legs. They burned too much to stand. “It hurts.”

“Your back?”

Malik shook his head. Then nodded. “Everything.” Everything was too much and he couldn’t deal with it. 

Bakura knelt down beside him and carefully reached out, cupping Malik’s face. “Where are we?” Somewhere. Fuck. No, that wasn’t right. “What did you just do?” Get out- “What age are you?” Se- Si- Twen- Thir- “What’s your name?”

“I-” He shook his head. Why couldn’t he answer anything? It was simple. Na- no. A- no. Ma- no. What was it? It was too much. He squeezed his eyes shut. Too many questions. Stop.

“What’s my name?” Bakura asked. “I need you to tell me my name.”

Malik tried to look up at him. He knew this one. “Bakura.” 

“Good.” Bakura smiled - not like his old Ryou smiles, but a genuine one. It made his eyes look brighter. Everything behind him was blurry, like it was photoshopped. Everything was dark. “What am I wearing?”

“Um-” He glanced down. “Red hoodie. Black t-shirt. Jeans. Red docs. Gold earring. Gold chain.”

“Good,” Bakura soothed again. “You’re doing well. Can you breathe?” Malik’s breath still caught in his chest, but he nodded. “Good. Where do I live?”

“With Ryou.”

“No, what street? Apartment number?”

His forehead pinched. Focus. “Number forty two, Toshai Hinode-ku, Domino.”

“Now what’s your name?”

Malik took a slow breath. “Malik Ishtar.”

“Age?”

“I’m twenty two.”

“Where are you living?”

“The Maraia penthouse, Toridas-ku, Domino.”

“What did you do today?”

Malik took another slow breath - in for five, and out for seven. He tried to draw it from his stomach, not letting his shoulders move. “I got up, I had cereal for breakfast, I got dressed, I went over to yours, we went for lunch, and then we came here.” The air wasn’t too loud anymore. He could deal with it. His legs still burned, and his back, but it wasn’t as bad. 

Bakura’s thumb rubbed the side of his cheek. The world around his face didn’t seem quite so dark anymore. “Are you back with me?” Malik took a deep breath and nodded. He was back. “What happened?”

Malik just shook his head. “I don’t know.” His voice cracked. “It was just too much.” 

Bakura took his hand and squeezed it. “That’s okay,” he murmured. “It was pretty loud.” Malik returned the squeeze. “Do you want to go home?”

Malik shook his head. “You wanted to come out tonight - I don’t want to ruin it.”

Bakura snorted. “Mal, I couldn’t care less about the market. I just thought you’d like the food here.”

Malik’s face heated up. “Oh.” He licked his lips. “Well I did. It was a lot better than the hotel.”

Bakura smiled again. “Good to know. I’ll need to take you out roughing it more often.” He glanced towards the main entrance of the temple. The setting sun glinted off the shards of coloured glass that made the gate’s wall gold. “Although maybe not here.”

“That might be good.” Malik rolled his shoulders. “I still want to do something with you.” He was feeling better. He was fine. It wasn’t a big deal.

Bakura looked back at him. “How about we go and see a film?” He suggested. “ _ Crazy Rich Asians _ is in the cinema here. We could go to that.”

“Are you sure?” Malik pushed his fringe out of his eyes. He needed to invest in gel, or something to keep it away. Or maybe a haircut. When did he last have one? Fuck it.

“Of course.” Bakura stood up and pulled Malik up with him. “But you’re buying the nachos.”

Malik wrinkled his nose. “Why do you want nachos?”

“They taste good, obviously.” Bakura rolled his eyes. “And I don’t want to have numb lips for two days because I ate too much popcorn.”

Malik sighed and allowed Bakura to lead him out of the back gate. It would be a longer walk to the cinema, but it meant they didn’t need to go back into the market. “You know, that wouldn’t happen if you actually drank enough with the popcorn.”

“So what you’re saying is you’ll buy me a drink too?”

Malik rolled his eyes but smiled. “Sure.” They walked down to the cinema in relative silence. Only a few people were there, and it was late enough on a school night that none of them had children with them. They bought the tickets, and Bakura led the way into theatre two, carrying a box of nachos with cheese sauce, a box of popcorn, and a diet coke. 

They sat beside each other at the back so they could push up the small armrest and curl into each other without anyone else seeing them, and made comments about which characters had the biggest dick energy, and who was gay as shit (“I don’t care if they actually confirmed it - Rachel is absolutely bi and had a thing for Peik Lin.”).

And they  _ did not _ stop muttering to each other when they saw the wedding scene. They  _ did not  _ stare as the floor was flooded or clutch each others’ hand as  _ Can’t Help Falling In Love _ was played. They  _ absolutely did not _ sit in silence for a full minute after the film ended, still processing it even though it wasn’t even the end of the film.

Bakura dumped his empty boxes in the bin as they walked out of the cinema, credits still playing. “I don’t care. Astrid told him to fuck off on the way to a wedding where she’d be judged  _ so  _ much for not bringing a date - big dick energy.”

“Eleanor bought an entire hotel because two employees were racist,” Malik protested. “That was the biggest dick energy I’ve ever seen. Like, fuck, that made  _ me  _ feel small.”

Bakura grinned. “And we both know that isn’t true.”

Malik nudged him, trying not to laugh. “Okay, but as gay as you are, you can’t say that you didn’t want her to step on you the second she did that.”

Bakura wrinkled his nose. “I can honestly say that I didn’t.” He paused. “Oliver, however, would own my ass.” Malik snorted. “Sorry, you’ll get joint custody.”

“Do I get it on weekends at least?”

Bakura smiled. “Thursday and Friday too.”

“Lucky me.” Malik squeezed his hand. “Thanks for tonight.” Bakura looked up at him. “You know. With the market.”

“Oh.” Bakura shrugged. “It’s no problem. Besides, I wanted to see this movie with someone, so it worked out.”

Malik smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.” He paused. “But you’re still wrong about Astrid.”

“Bitch,” Bakura laughed, “I will fucking fight you on this.” He choked on his laugh and coughed into his elbow. 

Malik frowned, focusing on his breathing. He hadn’t noticed it since the walk, but Bakura got out of breath very fast. “You okay?” Bakura nodded, taking a slow breath. There was a slight wheeze in his throat. Malik chewed his lip. “Hey, I need to go get a checkup soon. Have you gotten one recently?”

“Never,” Bakura admitted.

Malik’s eyebrows shot up. “What about your shots?”

Bakura wrinkled his nose. “Don’t want to get them. I don’t want someone I don’t know poking me with a needle.”

“Bakura, you need to get your shots,” Malik sighed. Bakura just shrugged. “Okay, I’m dragging you with me. We’re both getting everything done.”

“Everything?”

“Immunisations, eyesight checks, hearing check, everything.” Malik shook his head. “Gods, how are you still alive?”

“Fuck if I know.” Bakura winked at him. “The gods want me to suffer, I guess. It’d be no fun if I just died because of fucking smallpox or some shit.”

Malik’s half-smile fell. He slipped his hand into Bakura’s. “I don’t want you dying. On any of us, but especially on me. Fuck, I just got you back-”

Bakura frowned and looked away. “I’ve been back for a few years-”

“But I didn’t know.” Malik shook his head. The road was quiet now, only the occasional car passing them. “You think I wouldn’t have come back sooner?”

“No,” Bakura admitted. “I’m sort of still surprised you even want me around now. I fucked up-”

“You’re the reason I’m still alive.” Malik squeezed Bakura’s hand, slowing to a halt at a yield sign near the alley they used to get back to Ryou’s apartment. “You helped me get rid of my darker half at no benefit to yourself.”

“Yeah, well…” Bakura kicked at a  loose piece of crumbled wall. “You actually helped me too. It was one of the first times I did something Zorc didn’t want me to do.” He chewed the corner of his lip. “I still would have thought you’d want nothing to do with me.”

“Well you’re wrong.” Malik squeezed his hand again. It helped him. “I had some shit to go through, but I would have come back.” He shook his head. “That probably sounds creepy, given we only knew each other for a month or so, but-”

“No,” Bakura mumbled, “I know what you mean.” He sighed. “It’s different. It’s easier to be with people who knew what happened, and especially ones that don’t try to separate everything bad you did from how you are now.”

“Yeah,” Malik sighed. “Yeah. I needed a lot of counselling to get that into my head - that I still did things, even without my darker half. I still took control of people’s minds, and killed them, and tried to rule the world. And that I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, but- but it’s not… It’s not who I am right now.”

Bakura hummed. His brow was furrowing down, eyes squinting at the sidewalk, at one particular crack. “Did it help?” He muttered. “The counselling?”

Malik looked over at him, but Bakura refused to meet his gaze. “It did,” he whispered. “A lot.”

After a few moments, Bakura huffed and began walking again. Malik followed him. “Okay, I guess I could take an afternoon off and go to a few check-ups with you,” he grumbled. Malik waited. “And I might ring to see if what’s-her-name has a free appointment this week.”

“Yeah?” Malik smiled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakura’s shoulders hunched. “Just don’t tell Ryou, or I’ll never hear the end of it if it doesn’t work out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyo, hope you liked this chapter! Please review and I'll update every day from now until Christmas Eve since I don't actually have a Christmas one-shot planned for this year (Sorry!). See you nerds tomorrow (or later today lol).


	8. Chapter 08 | At

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura: I'm fine, the doctor said all my bleeding's internal. That's where the blood's supposed to be!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof sorry this is also late, but I was on a train and then at work and I really didn't want to proofread NSFW stuff in public. Hope y'all enjoy! The amazing art for this chapter was done by @ThiefKingYall on tumblr!!

**CW: Slight panic, bleeding, NSFW, trauma**

* * *

Bakura narrowed his eyes at the glasses in the display case. “Are you sure that pair looked good?” He muttered. “I don’t want to look like one of the dweebs. I’ve already gotten too close - this could be the thing that makes them think I’m one of them.”

Malik snorted and pulled up the photo of Bakura in his two pairs of glasses on his phone. “I’m sure. Look.” He flicked between them for Bakura. “You look good. Especially in the black and gold pair.”

Bakura hummed. “I think I prefer the red-rimmed ones.” He flicked back to the ones in question, then forward to Malik’s favourite pair. “You just have a thing for gold.”

“And you just have a thing for red,” Malik shot back, pocketing his phone again. “But you looked good in both of them, so it doesn’t matter.”

Bakura sank into the white plastic chair by the counter and leaned his head back. A few browsers milled around the shop, looking from case to case, the brilliant white lights reflecting off the glass. He rubbed his eyes as a child hopped up on a stool to properly see a pair of bright blue glasses.

“I don’t get why I need them,” he huffed as Malik sat beside him. “I’ve lived without them for ages.”

“That’s what you said about the inhaler,” Malik pointed out. Bakura had ended up being diagnosed with asthma and was due to take a screening test to see if he was on the autistic spectrum. He had taken his shots, squeezing the life out of Malik’s hand, and then stole a lollipop from the doctor’s desk (“Because fuck her.”). “Plus it could be because of your scar.”

Bakura grunted. The inhaler had been useful, he supposed. It stopped him wheezing and coughing as much, especially after running or using his ka. And he did struggle to see out of his right eye a lot more. “Still. Glasses sound like a bullshit way to get people to spend money on something that’ll break in a week.”

“They won’t break in a week.”

“Then why do I need two pairs?”

“In case you lose or break one pair- you know what, stop complaining.” Malik shook his head. “At least try them first.”

Bakura huffed and reclined in the chair. His hair fell back away from his shoulders as he did so. “I guess I could.”

“You’ll have to,” Malik snorted. “You’ve already paid for them.”

Bakura shrugged. “I could give them to that kid.” The girl was running around looking for her mom now, a pair of green glasses clenched in her chubby fist.

“That’s not how glasses work.” Malik pinched the top of his nose. “Just get through the end of this without complaining and I’ll give you a massage when we get back.”

Bakura grinned. “Oh? Just a massage?”

“It depends on how good you are.”

“Alright, daddy.”

Malik twisted to glare at him, but before he could kinkshame Bakura or call him out, one of the salespeople walked over to them with two green, plastic glasses cases and a brilliant white smile. “Bakura Yuuto?” Bakura nodded at her. She held out the plastic cases. Her black suit crinkled at her shoulder. “Here are your glasses. Please come back if there are any problems!”

“I will,” Bakura muttered as he took them from her. They cost him over four thousand yen. If there was so much of a scratch on one lens within the first week, he was bringing those overpriced fuckers back.

The salesperson nodded and hurried over to the child and her mother as they made their way to the red counter, heels clicking out of tune with the crappy pop music playing on repeat.

“Well?” Malik was looking at him expectantly.

“Well?” Bakura prompted, eyebrows raised. “What, you want me to call you daddy again? Gods, I knew you were kinky but-”

Malik swatted at Bakura’s arm. “Try on the glasses, asshole.”

Bakura stuffed the cases into his jacket pocket. “Nah. Not yet.” Malik opened his mouth to argue, but Bakura stood up. “Just until we get outside. The lights are bothering me.”

Another thing they had learned from the check-up was that Bakura was extremely light-sensitive, so Malik just pursed his lips and followed Bakura through the shopping centre. They joined hands to make sure neither of them got lost again, and though Bakura knew the crowds bothered Malik, it didn’t seem to be at the stage of the market.

Once they were a few minutes away from the centre, Malik pulled Bakura over to a bench outside a restaurant. “Okay, let’s try them.”

“Don’t you mean I try them?” Bakura snorted, though he sat down with Malik.

“No because that doesn’t work gram- oh fuck off.” Malik folded his arms as Bakura snickered. “I don’t know how your lecturers are going to deal with you.”

Bakura’s laughter died a little and he opened one of the cases. He didn’t acknowledge Malik’s jab. The black and gold pair were first - a narrow, rectangular frame with gold wiring and black grips on the bits that hooked around his ears.

He looked at Malik once more before putting them on. He closed his eyes as he slid them into place. Malik waited for a moment, and then pulled Bakura’s hands away from his face. With no other option, the smaller man opened his eyes. Bakura stared.

“Well?” Malik smiled.

A smile stretched across Bakura’s face. “I can see leaves!”

Malik laughed. “Do you like them?”

Bakura looked up at him, eyes bright and wide. “Holy shit. _Holy shit_.”

Malik’s laughter only grew and he brushed Bakura’s fringe up out of his eyes. “Is it much better?”

“I can actually see fucking leaves - and cracks on the path!” Bakura pulled his feet up onto the bench, knees pressed against his chest. “I can read the sign across the road, holy shit!” He turned and pressed his lips to Malik’s.

Malik started, automatically tensing. Public, kissing, Japan. They both knew it wasn’t a good mix, but Malik returned the kiss. Bakura’s smile ended up breaking the kiss and he pressed his forehead against Malik’s. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for this.”

“It wasn’t me who got them for you,” Malik chuckled.

Bakura shook his head. “I love you.”

Malik’s smile softened a little and he pressed another kiss to Bakura’s lips, passers-by be fucked. “I love you too.” The right corner of his lips lifted higher than the left. “Now, do you want to start heading home? I believe I owe you a massage.”

“Sure.” Bakura allowed Malik to pull him off the bench and they began the walk back to Malik’s apartment. It was quiet enough; because Bakura couldn’t take his eyes off everything around him.

Malik had to stop him from wandering into traffic twice. “Honey, the glasses are meant to help you get around.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakura stared at the birds flying overhead in a v-shape. The sky was turning a muted orange colour, and Malik began moving the second the walking man light turned green - he wanted to get home before it got too dark.

Bakura stalled, took a step, and tripped over the top of the sidewalk. His knee slammed into the pavement, and Malik twisted. Cold shot through him and he ran back to Bakura, the other barely able to stop his chin hitting the ground. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Bakura jolted up. The light turned orange and he grabbed Malik’s hand - his palm was grazed.

Malik could feel the angry heat radiate from it, gravel digging into his own skin as Bakura dragged him across the rest of the road. A car beeped at them and Malik snapped at them to fuck off.

Bakura was limping by the time they reached the other side, grinding his teeth. “Fucking weak ass body,” he grumbled, leaning against the wall. He released Malik’s hand and checked his palm. He winced, and then wiped the gravel away.

“What happened?” Malik shook his head.

Bakura huffed. “Nothing. I was just watching the birds.” He shook his head. “Come on - let’s keep walking.”

Malik frowned. “No. No, we need to get you to a pharmacy at least and treat those cuts.” Before they got infected. Before Bakura got more hurt.

“I’m fine,” Bakura repeated. Malik raised an eyebrow. Bakura sighed and took off his glasses to check them. “If I show you how to heal them with heka, will you stop bitching at me?”

Malik blinked a few times, then bit his lip. “I can heal you?”

Bakura nodded and put his glasses on again. They suited him. “But I’ll only show you at the apartment. It can be part of your training. Deal?”

Malik let out a slow breath through his nose. If he pushed the pharmacy, Bakura probably wouldn’t show him how to do it - if only out of spite. “Fine.” He took Bakura’s uninjured hand. “But I’m giving you the massage too.”

Bakura grinned. “You say that like I’d protest.”

The rest of the walk was a little slower than it should have been, with Bakura limping and Malik checking on him every few minutes. He also didn’t let go of Bakura’s hand, and squeezed it whenever Bakura got too distracted. He couldn’t fall again. He couldn’t.

Once they were up in the apartment, Bakura flopped onto the bed with a groan, and Malik kicked off his shoes. “Okay, what do I do?”

Bakura squeezed his eyes shut. “Do the same as you were doing for yourself the other day, but just- fuck, push your energy out of your hands I guess? That’s what it feels like. But do it softly - too hard and you’ll blow me through the wall.”

“Wonderful,” Malik whispered as he knelt down at Bakura’s feet.

Bakura grinned. “You look good there.”

“Now is not the time to be making sex jokes.” Malik rolled his eyes and pulled the leg of Bakura’s jeans up. He hissed.

The wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been, given how hard he had fallen, but it still hadn’t closed over and though it wasn’t wide, it was deep. Malik slowly covered the cut with his cupped hands. “Okay…” Like the other day. He could manage that.

He closed his eyes, letting his energy pool in his stomach. Slowly, it began to spread up into his chest, down his arms, across his palms. Bakura’s knee felt warm, and Malik risked a glance. He grinned. Gone. “How does it feel?”

Bakura grunted. “Pretty good.” He stretched his leg out as Malik sat back on his heels. “Really good actually. Shit.”

“Give me your hand.” Malik reached out and took it without waiting for Bakura to give it to him. The graze stretched across most of the palm, ripping open one of Bakura’s scars- no. Ryou’s scar. The one from the tower. Malik closed his eyes again. His palms were still tingling, so it didn’t take nearly as much focus to draw on his heka again and ease it into Bakura’s skin.

Just like last time, he checked it, expecting to see the usual dark brown palm with a star-shaped scar. But no scar strained against Bakura’s hand - just smooth  skin. “What the-” Malik’s grip on Bakura’s hand tightened. “Fuck, what- what did I-”

Bakura pulled his hand back. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Malik stared at him. “I fucked up!” Bakura loved his scars - said they were memories, or proof that he had lived or some shit.

“No.” Bakura shook his head. “No it’s okay.” He lowered his hand. “I didn’t like that one anyway.” He didn’t like two of the three he had gotten in the ring. He leaned down to cup Malik’s face. He looked concerned - Malik must have still been tense, though it didn’t feel like he was. It just still felt like he’d betrayed Bakura’s trust. “It’s okay.”

“But-” Malik pulled Bakura’s hand away to look at his skin again. At a second glance, it wasn’t gone. Not entirely. The star was still there, but the tight, stretched skin was gone; the different texture too. It was hardly noticeable - just a shade lighter than Bakura’s skin.

“It’s okay,” Bakura repeated. “Ryou and I talked about it before. It doesn’t matter.”

Malik swallowed and looked away. He should feel bad. He did feel bad - but he felt worse because the only thing he could think about now was his back. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Most people can’t,” Bakura admitted. “Not on their first try at least. So it’s not your fault.”

Malik sighed and pulled himself up onto the bed beside Bakura. “Can you do it?”

Bakura hesitated. He knew. Malik couldn’t meet his gaze. He was being selfish. “I don’t think you want that.”

“I do.” Malik’s hands balled into fists. “Gods, I’ve never wanted them. I just want them gone.”

Bakura placed his hand on Malik’s wrist and gave it a small squeeze. “It’s not going to fix things.” Malik shrugged. “It’s not going to erase what happened, and they’ll still sort of be there.” He flashed Malik the back of his hand- of course. The tower roof had pierced the back too.

The scar was more noticeable there, on the darker skin. It was roughly the same shade as on his palm, but it stood out more. His scars would look like that. An imprint, more than scarring. A birthmark.

“I know,” Malik whispered. He shouldn’t have brought it up. “And if you don’t want to do it, that’s okay-”

“No.” Bakura squeezed his wrist again. “No, I do. I do want to.” He tried to meet Malik’s gaze, and this time, the latter let him. “I just don’t think this is going to go the way you want it to.”

Malik gritted his teeth. How would Bakura know? How the fuck could he? He liked his scars - he was proud of every single fucking one, from the slash on his half-fucking-blind eye to the two dots on his ankle from when a snake had bitten him. How could he understand? “I want,” Malik whispered, “to do this.”

Bakura let out a heavy breath, and for a moment, Malik thought he was going to say no. But instead, he smiled. “I thought I was the one getting a massage tonight.”

Malik’s stomach felt like someone had ripped it out - it just… it didn’t exist anymore. “I can still give you one later-”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Bakura grinned and leaned up. He kissed Malik softly, like an angel, and then smirked like a devil when he pulled away. “But you do have lube, right?”

Malik snorted. “Naturally.” He had gotten some after the last time. He twisted and pulled off his shirt before lying down on his stomach. When he looked over his shoulder, Bakura was staring at him. “Well?”

Bakura shook his head and pulled off his own shirt. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he said as he crawled on top of Malik. “You know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice.” Malik rested his forehead on his folded arms. He couldn’t shake. Not now. He couldn’t let anything stop this.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” This was everything he’d wanted since he was ten. He couldn’t fuck it up.

Bakura’s hands touched the top of his spine and Malik gasped.

“Is this okay?” Bakura murmured as he eased his hands over Malik’s wings first.

“Gods yes.” Malik hid his face in the mattress. He didn’t want it to stop - ever. Bakura’s fingers traced over the scars, and Malik writhed. It felt like he was… pushing them back. Gently. But it also felt like when Bakura had dropped down to his knees the first time and traced his tongue over Malik’s shaft.

Bakura hummed and kissed the top of Malik’s spine. He kept tracing over the scars, easing them down, until Malik had stopped moaning and was merely breathing heavily, Bakura’s hands on the small of his back.

Malik didn’t raise his head from the mattress. “What does it look like?” He assumed better. It had to be better. But Bakura liked scars. What if he liked Malik’s scars? What if he didn’t like Malik as much now? What if he left because of it- what if-

Malik flinched when he heard an animated shutter sound, and Bakura slid his phone in front of Malik’s face. “See for yourself.”

It took Malik a moment. “I don’t want to.”

“That’s okay.” Bakura took the phone away. “You can see later.”

Malik nodded, but stretched his arm behind him and ran his own fingers up his back. He nearly sobbed. The rough scars were gone, leaving only smooth skin in their wake. Bakura carefully took his hand and kissed his pinky finger. “Happy?”

Malik rolled onto his back under him and pulled him down. “I love you,” he whispered against his lips. “I love you. I love you.”

“Mm- I love you too.” Bakura smiled through their kisses, eyes open and fixed on Malik’s.

Malik dragged his lips along the corner of Bakura’s mouth, repeating thank yous and I love yous. Bakura shivered as Malik nipped his lip. “Malik,” he murmured into his mouth, one hand slipping underneath him to cradle Malik’s head.

Malik’s right hand ran through Bakura’s hair, his left on the small of the other’s back. His lips burned and his grip on Bakura’s hair tightened. Bakura clutched at Malik’s bare side, thumb stretching to flick his nipple. Malik groaned and tugged at Bakura’s shirt.

Bakura pulled back just enough to yank it and his belt off before kissing down Malik’s throat. Malik cooed in appreciation, but it didn’t send the same rush through him as he knew it did for Bakura, so he pulled his partner’s head back by his hair and bit his neck. Bakura groaned and twisted Malik’s nipples. Malik bit back a whine, muttering curses against Bakura’s skin.

He bit Bakura’s neck again, sucking, painting it over with red. His hips hitched up as Bakura kneaded his chest, and they both moaned as their groins slid together. Malik raked his nails down Bakura’s chest. Bakura’s head fell back and he called Malik’s name. His hands fumbled for Malik’s belt, yanking it free and pulling his pants down.

Malik shifted his hips up to help him take them off, content enough to let Bakura take off his own as well. Malik pulled him back down for another kiss. “How are we doing this?” Bakura gasped against his lips.

Malik reached out and fumbled blindly for the drawer his lube was in and grabbed it and his condoms. “You choose,” he decided, pulling back just enough to speak clearly. Bakura stared at him, eyes hazy. “You get to pick,” Malik repeated, just in case Bakura hadn’t heard him the first time, “whatever you want.”

Bakura nodded and took the lube off him. He kissed Malik, and for a minute, Malik expected to feel a finger prodding at his ass any second. But when Bakura moaned into his mouth, Malik pulled back to see him prepping himself, already on two fingers.

He smirked. “You know,” he murmured, “I could do that for you.”

Bakura shook his head. “No teasing tonight,” he insisted, voice shaking. He added a third, spreading them apart. “You always fucking tease, you brat, I just- I just want-” He groaned and his head fell against Malik’s chest. “Fuck-”

“What do you want?” Malik prompted. He opened the condom himself to save time as Bakura tried to respond.

“Mm-” Bakura pulled back as he slipped his fingers out. He wiped them on the blanket and Malik caught himself before he could lecture Bakura. Instead, he watched as Bakura crawled over him and lay on his side, back to Malik.

Malik turned onto his side, arms winding around Bakura. “Like this?” Bakura nodded, and Malik nudged his leg up a little. Once it was far enough, he held Bakura’s knee, spreading his legs further apart. “Pretty intimate.”

“You’re the one who said you loved me,” Bakura scoffed, breathless.

Malik ran the tip of his cock along Bakura’s ass. “Mm, true. Still.” He paused and began to ease into him. Bakura moaned. “Didn’t think this would be one of your favourites.”

“Shut up,” Bakura gasped, hitching back, “and move!”

Malik gripped Bakura’s waist with his free hand and thrust into him, harder. The position limited his movements a bit, so he couldn’t go quite as fast as he’d wanted to - it was new and threw him out of his element, but Bakura moaned like he was in heaven.

“Fuck,” he gasped, “oh _fuck_.”

Malik wrapped his top arm around Bakura’s waist, tracing his fingers along his thigh, and used his bottom one for leverage.

“Malik, please-”

Malik let his fingers slide up Bakura’s thigh again to his cock, and wrapped his hand around it.

“Malik!” Bakura shouted, clutching the sheets with one hand, and reaching an arm around to grab Malik’s waist with the second. Malik’s stomach tightened - he fucking loved hearing Bakura scream his name - and he hitched his hips a little faster.

“I love you,” Malik whispered, voice as tight as his groin, and he moved his hand faster. “I love you.”

“I-I-I- fuck!” Bakura’s eyes slammed shut. “Fuck, I l-lo- ah- love you-” Bakura bucked his hips forward into Malik’s hand as he came, shaking against him.

Malik released him and gripped his hip again, moving faster, faster, as his body tensed, teetering on the brink of an orgasm. “Fuck, Bakura, Bakura, fuck- oh!” He stuttered to a halt inside Bakura, breath heavy and shaking.

His arms slowly wound around Bakura again, and he nuzzled into Bakura’s back. Bakura hummed in appreciation. “Gods that was good,” he breathed. “Right on my fucking prostate the whole time.”

“Mm.” Malik smiled. “I was beginning to wonder why you weren’t getting louder. Thought I’d lost it.”

“Ah yes,” Bakura snorted, “because it’s so easy to lose someone’s prostate.” He settled back into Malik’s chest. “We should clean up,” he finally mumbled.

Malik sighed, sleep dragging his eyelids down, ghosting over him, drawing him in. “I guess…” He reluctantly peeled himself away from Bakura. “Want a bath?”

“You look like you’ll fall asleep if we do.”

“I’m sure you can keep me awake.” Malik smiled at him, and Bakura sat up.

“I suppose.”

“Good.” Malik pulled his condom off and tied it, dropping it into the bin on his way. “I’ll fill it - you grab some towels.”

“I’m not your servant,” Bakura called into him, but Malik still heard him pad over to the wardrobe to locate towels.

He smiled and leaned over the bath, turning on the hot tap to full blast and the cold one to half-power. Just so it wouldn’t boil them alive. He glanced up into the mirror that took up the entire fourth wall of the cream-tiled bathroom. His hair was a mess, scattered up and about his head like he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket, and his khol was smeared across his cheeks. He grinned. It wasn’t a bad look, although he preferred it on Bakura.

He hesitated, eyes falling to his shoulder. Slowly, he turned and twisted his head so he could see his back in the mirror. The scars had healed more than Bakura’s - while Malik had stopped the second he had realised what he was healing, Bakura had kept going, either until his heka wouldn’t work or until they wouldn’t heal anymore.

The larger scars were still visible - his wings, the disk on his spine, the three gods, and a few words here and there - but overall, the scars had healed into one another, words blurring, merging, incoherent.

“Hey.” Malik turned to see Bakura watching him, concerned. He could feel tears dripping down his cheeks, though his vision wasn’t blurring. “You okay?” Malik nodded. “Because if you don’t like it, that’s okay-”

“No,” Malik whispered. He wrapped his arms around Bakura’s waist. “No, I love it.” He’d never felt so free from the tombs. Bakura let out a slow breath and dropped the towels at their feet, winding his arms up and around Malik’s shoulders. His forearms pressed against what was left of the scars, and Malik closed his eyes, relishing in the warm covering. “I love you.”

Bakura closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Malik’s. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly feel that given the chance, Malik would 100% choose to just get rid of his scars. It might low key come back to bite him in the ass later tho, woops. Hope I'll see you nerds again tomorrow. The next chapter I really want to have checked over by a few friends before I post it though, so I might post two on Saturday instead if they can't look over it in time, but that depends. Anyway, please review and see you next time.


	9. Chapter 09 | Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nasir: I like to take things slowly.  
> Ryou: Hey.  
> Nasir: So that's why we'll only go into my early traumas and father issues for now and we'll save the more recent stuff for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I'm so so sorry that this is like three weeks late, but I really needed people to look over it for accuracy before I posted it and I couldn't push them because it was the holidays and they were having a rough time, and then it was my first few days back at uni so I was just struggling a little. But here it is! Hopefully I'll update on time from now on. Hope you all had a great/tolerable/not as shitty as it could have been holiday.

**CW: Anxiety/panic attack, dissociation, discussing Malik's childhood, intrusive thoughts**

* * *

 

“The results from your tests are back.”

Malik sat closer to the edge of his chair. He had done the tests a few days after his third appointment; once Hasegawa got his notes from his old counsellor. “And?” He drummed his fingers on the side of his chair.

“And…” She set her glasses on the table beside her. “Some of them are positive, and one or two are negative.”

Six. He had done six. Malik licked his lips. They felt like he hadn’t drunk anything in hours. “Which ones?”

“Well, you have a panic disorder that causes you anxiety and depression, as you’d expected.” Hasegawa was using her soft, ‘everything’s okay’ voice. Malik didn’t like where this was going. “You also appear to have Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

Malik’s head spun, and he had to sink back against the back of the chair to ease the feeling that he was going to fall. It didn’t help much. He focused on one of the flowers on the wallpaper, just above Hasegawa’s head. “What does that mean?”

“It used to be called-” Hasegawa tucked her hair behind her ear. “-Multiple Personality Disorder. It’s a form of dissociation that usually occurs due to childhood trauma that results in having… split personalities, for want of a better term. It’s the mind’s way of protecting you from what’s going on.”

Malik smiled. He smiled. “I don’t have that.” He shook his head. “It’s a mistake. I’ll do the test again, but I don’t have that.” He had gotten rid of his darker half in the Shadow Game. He had won. He was the only one in his body.

Hasegawa raised her eyebrows. “I know that this is a lot to process, Marik. Everyone deals with this differently-”

“No, it’s a mistake.” Malik gripped the arms of his chair too tight. His knuckles turned white. “I don’t have whatever it is you just said.”

“Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

The clock on the wall was maddeningly loud. Malik squeezed his eyes shut. Block it out. “What makes you so sure?” Tick. Tick. _T_ _ick. Tick. TICK._

Hasegawa turned a page of her clipboard. “Breathe, Marik.” She waited until Malik took a few breaths. “Now I’m going to name a few of the symptoms of D.I.D, and I want you to stop me if you think there’s been a misdiagnosis.” She looked back at her clipboard. “An inability to recall key personal information. Distinct memory variations.” Her eyes flickered up and Malik busied himself with digging the toe of his shoe into the rug. “Depression, suicidal tendencies, and mood swings. Sleep disorders. Anxiety, panic attacks, and phobias. Eating disorders. Psychotic-like symptoms. Substance abuse. Compulsions and rituals.” Malik swallowed. His head was pounding. “You already mentioned you had your darker half during the Battle City fiasco a few years ago-”

“I got rid of him,” Malik whispered. “That- that wasn’t my fault-”

“I’m not saying that it was.” Hasegawa set her clipboard aside. “But D.I.D. isn’t a bad thing. It’s a form of dissociation that someone’s mind can create for protection after a particularly traumatising event.” She leaned forward. “And I know that it’s hard for you to talk about, but what your father did to you is absolutely a possible event-”

Malik stood up. “I-” His head spun faster, faster, faster. “I have to go.”

“Marik, I really think you should stay-”

“I have to go.” He lurched towards the door, stumbling over his own feet. Hasegawa stood up and said something else, but Malik didn’t catch it, didn’t process it- He yanked the door open and ran out into the hall, out of the building, down the street. No. No, this wasn’t happening.

His head felt tight, like that day when he had met Atem again. He pulled out his phone, fingers shaking. He barely managed to type in his pin code and pull up his phone. Rishid. He had to call Rishid. But Bakura’s name was first, so he pressed that.

It rang a few times, but Malik couldn’t even bring himself to be angry that Bakura never picked up. Finally, the line clicked. _“Hello?”_

“Bakura,” Malik choked out.

 _“Malik? Are you okay?”_ Something rustled, just on the mouthpiece. Bakura’s voice returned, a little clearer. _“You sound weird, what’s going on?”_

Malik sniffled and closed his eyes. For a moment, everything was dark. When _he_ opened his eyes, he was scowling. “Nothing,” he snapped, “I’m fine.”

_“Where are you?”_

Bakura sounded worried, and he almost scoffed. He shouldn’t be. It wasn’t as though he could actually do anything. The tension spread from his shoulders to the rest of his body. He couldn’t do anything.

_“Malik, stay at the counselling place - I’m coming to get you-”_

He hung up. Stay at the counselling place. He turned and looked at the grey-slab building behind him. **North-East Counselling** was emblazoned on the side of the building, near the door, in copper letters, turning black from the years of bad winters.

He scratched the inside of his thumb. He didn’t get out much. Malik usually handled these things. _Stay at the counselling place._ He made his way over to the building and looked up at the fire escape. It was just steps - not even a ladder. He probably wasn’t meant to be up there. In fact, he definitely wasn’t. His eyes hurt, and the water spilling out of them only made it worse.

He dug his hands into his pockets and began to climb, trying to ignore the tears. Big boys don’t cry. Big boys don’t cry. By the third set of stairs, he had managed to ease his breathing, and by the fourth, his eyes felt painfully dry. The building was tall, five or six stories, so when he reached the flat roof, his legs hurt. He climbed off the metal escape and sank down to the ground. The sun shone down at him, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of it beating on his face. He could still feel the tear tracks on his cheeks.

The area was smaller than he remembered. Then again, he hadn’t been out for long during the games either. But he remembered skyscrapers - not six-story buildings with **North-East Counselling** written on them. He pursed his lips. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Well, at least someone had told Malik.

He leaned his head back until it hit the small concrete wall behind him. That explained a lot. His hands itched, and he patted the side of his pants, just to check. No. No, the Rod was definitely gone.

Good.

It took a while, maybe twenty minutes, before he heard footsteps thundering up the fire escape. He looked up in time to see an ashy head of hair peek up over the wall. Bakura smiled, but the smile fell within seconds. He climbed over the wall and sat beside him. “Where’s Malik?”

“Gone for a bit.”

“Who are you?”

“You met me before.”

Bakura’s eyes flashed. “His darker half. In Battle City.”

“Is that what he’s still calling us?” Despite the stab of irritation, he grinned. It was somewhat amusing - Malik really thought they’d been banished. It wasn’t all him, but-

“Then what’s your name?” Bakura leaned closer. It reminded him of that damn therapist that had triggered Malik badly enough to draw him out. “If you don’t want to be called Malik’s darker half, what do you want to be called?”

He looked up at the sky. It was still blue. It helped a little, and he preferred it to the starless night sky, dyed orange from the city lights. He felt freer. “Nasir.”

“Okay…” Bakura nodded slowly. “You’re… different.”

“You mean I’m not on a murderous rampage.” Nasir closed his eyes. “No Rod,” he muttered. “No power, no items, no plan, no Rishid.” Who else should he fight? The therapist? Bakura? No. No, Malik wanted them safe for some reason. He seemed to want everyone safe these days. He had very little use for Nasir, let alone for Amir.

“So the Rod was influencing you?”

“I think so.” Nasir’s face scrunched up. His nose was itching, like he was going to sneeze, but his eyes burned too. Just like they had when he was climbing the fire escape. “I don’t remember much.” His gaze fell to the cloud floating a little bit above the horizon. “Is that how you felt?”

“For a while,” Bakura admitted. “Then it began to come back.”

Nasir hummed. He shifted forward so his back wasn’t pressed against the wall, and he leaned back on his arms. He was surprised his back hadn’t acted up with the rough surface. “Sounds fun.” He tapped the heel of his shoe against the ground.

“So-” Bakura moved so he wasn’t on his knees. He sat cross-legged across from Nasir. “-when’s Malik coming back out?”

“When he’s ready.” Nasir closed his eyes. “The therapist person in there told him we have D.I.D. so he’s currently processing that. Or leaving me to process it, I guess.” He frowned. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like Malik leaving all of the dirty work to him again.

“D.I.D?” Bakura pressed.

Nasir nodded. “Yeah.” He didn’t offer much further explanation. He’d taken a look when they were younger, the one or two times he’d been in control, but hadn’t managed to yield much results information wise. Then again, he hadn’t been quite certain what he was searching for. **I’m in a body that isn’t mine** didn’t lead to many productive Google results. It just didn’t go his way.

Nasir’s eyes were beginning to water. Nothing went his way. Even Bakura was being too distant - he hadn’t once touched Nasir. Not once. “The shadows tasted horrible,” he whispered. His eyes overflowed, and he squeezed them shut. He didn’t want to cry again. He was meant to protect, not curl up in a ball and sob.

Fuck. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing the wet away- rubbing it into his skin, across his face. “Hey, it’s okay,” Bakura tried to soothe, but his voice was just as cool as it was when he’d first seen him and known he wasn’t Malik. Nasir shook his head. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.

He shoved Bakura away and jumped onto the fire escape. He had to get out. He had to move. Everything was too close to Malik, everything was too close. His feet slapped the pavement, and he ran across the road. A car beeped at him, but he ignored it. He glanced at the building to see Bakura only reaching the bottom of the fire escape, and he pushed himself faster.

His eyes burned. Run, run, run. Run, run, as fast as you can; you can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man. He ran until his right leg sank underneath him, and instead of a hard, gritty sidewalk, he rolled onto grass.

He lay on his back and stared up. The trees covered in the sky around him, but it felt better than the plain open one. Nasir took a shaky breath. The park. Forty minutes he’d run, and Bakura hadn’t caught him. Maybe he _was_ the gingerbread man.

He forced himself to sit up. The park was practically abandoned, bar two young women in jogging gear, wheeling black prams with yellow blankets around the grass. One gave him an odd look, but he ignored it. The gate was at least five minutes away. He had fallen a few metres away from the lake, where swan boats sat tethered to the docks, waiting for the weekend when tourists would take them out to stretch their wings for a little bit. He was lucky. He might have kept running, straight into the water if he hadn’t fallen.

He dragged himself to his feet and trudged over to the bench closest to him, parked underneath a tree with rough, grey-brown bark. It overlooked the water, but Nasir couldn’t find much beauty in it like he knew he was meant to. He could just see the bugs hopping and skimming on top of the water. That was nice, he supposed. At least they were having fun.

He leaned back against the bench, and then frowned. Concrete, falling, grass, and now wood, and his back hadn’t acted up. He stretched and reached a hand up his shirt. That was odd. He could have sworn his scars were low enough to reach from the bottom.

He tried again, stretching over his shoulder. He ran his fingers over his shoulders. Nothing. Lower. Nothing. Spine, shoulder blades, upper back, lower back, nothing, nothing, nothing. Nasir’s nails dug into his skin. Where were they? Where were they? Where-

“Nasir?”

Nasir jumped and slipped. He nearly hit his head off the back of the bench, but the small white man caught his arm to stop him. Nasir sniffed. “They’re gone,” he whispered. “They took them.”

“What are gone?” The old Bakura helped him back up onto the bench, but Nasir just turned and hid his face in the man’s stomach.

“They’re gone!” He sobbed. “I- They- They were mine!” _He_ was the one who went through the initiation. _He_ was the one who’d dealt with the pain of it, who had been forced out, who had been born out of it. He deserved those scars back. He had _earned_ them.

The old Bakura carefully placed his hand on Nasir’s shoulder, holding him a little closer. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I know it hurts.”

No he didn’t - he didn’t even know what Nasir was talking about. No. No, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want to deal with this. But this was his line of expertise. This was meant to be what he could deal with, but he couldn’t. He sniffed and burrowed, and cried. The old Bakura’s hand ghosted over his back and Nasir sobbed. Gone, gone, gone.

“Oh,” the old Bakura breathed, “oh no. Oh, I’m so sorry-”

“Shut up!” Nasir sobbed. “Just shut up!” The old Bakura fell silent, and just let Nasir cry himself to the point where he was nearly dry heaving onto his shirt. Heavy footsteps crunched on the ground, running, just as Nasir managed to gulp down a few, steadier breaths.

“Thank gods you found him,” he heard Bakura pant. The Bakura he knew, not the old one. “Nasir-”

“Go away.” Nasir squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t like dealing with Bakura. Bakura just wanted him to be Malik, and he wasn’t.

“It’s okay,” the old Bakura assured him. “Bakura isn’t going to hurt you.” Hurt. Healing. Heka. He did it. Bakura did it.

“Like I could,” Bakura scoffed. He already had. Nasir nearly started crying again, but it was almost like his body had gotten rid of every drop of water it owned. He peeked up at Bakura to see his arms folded, a scowl on his face. Off-colour green leaves framed the back of his head, distorting his whole red-and-grey scheme. “Come on, you need to calm down and-”

“And what?” Nasir’s eyes narrowed. The water might have been gone, but a pile of hot rage sat boiling and ready for use just in his throat. His eyes itched with heat and he had to resist bringing up a hand to rub them. “Bring Malik out again? Because I can’t. That’s not- I can’t-”

The old Bakura shushed him. “It’s okay,” he murmured. His hand dragged through Nasir’s hair. “We’re not expecting you to bring Malik out.” Bakura shot his host a look, but didn’t say anything. “Do you know my name?”

Nasir shook his head. He normally didn’t like new people touching him, but with his chest tight and back aching with phantom pain, he couldn’t bring himself to object to the old Bakura’s fingers combing through his hair.

“I’m Ryou.” The man smiled at him. “Are you hungry?”

“Gods, Ryou, he’s not a child.” Bakura rolled his eyes.

Ryou ignored Bakura. “What age are you?” He asked. “Or do you know-?”

“I know,” Nasir muttered, pulling away. That was enough to make him object. Of course he knew what fucking age he was. “I’m nineteen.” Ryou paused, and Bakura scowled. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ryou assured him. “Nineteen. Okay.” He nodded slowly. “Do you want to come back to my place? I can pull out the couch for you.”

Nasir bit the corner of his lip. Malik had an apartment somewhere. His nails dug into his palms. They were just trying to watch him. But if he went back alone, he might destroy the apartment, just to spite Malik. “I-”

“Come on.” Bakura nudged him, and Nasir edged back. “Oh you can’t be serious-”

“Bakura,” Ryou snapped, “stop.” Nasir winced. “Sorry. If you come back, I can make some hot chocolate.”

Nasir paused, thinking. He hadn’t had hot chocolate before. “With real milk?”

“Malik’s vegan,” Bakura muttered, still frowning. He seemed more irritable than earlier. He still wouldn’t touch Nasir, and now, the other didn’t mind. Fuck Bakura. Fuck him.

“I’m not.”

“How about soy milk?” Ryou offered. “Real milk might make you sick if Malik hasn’t had it in a while.”

After a moment, Nasir nodded. “Okay,” he mumbled, “I guess I can do that.”

Ryou smiled and took Nasir’s hand, helping him to stand up off the peeling brown bench. “Okay,” he mimicked. “Come on - my apartment’s this way.” Even though he knew the way, Nasir allowed Ryou to lead him by the hand, watching as Bakura fell into step beside his old host. His lips moved, and Nasir strained to hear what he was saying.

“Malik- trigger- diagnosis-”

“I can hear you.” He couldn’t - not really. But it was enough. “I didn’t cause this.”

“I never said you did.” Bakura didn’t look back at him. “All I said was you’ve got D.I.D. and Malik panicked when he was diagnosed.”

Nasir grunted. “It’s not my fault. She should have eased him into it.”

“What, you couldn’t tell him yourself or warn him?” Bakura rolled his eyes.

Nasir’s fist clenched, and Ryou had to give his hand a squeeze for him to relax again. “No, actually.” He stared at the ground. “We can’t talk to each other.” None of them could. He’d tried after he got the Rod, and it helped. They were more controlled then - or at least, he and Namu were. But then everything was gone again. He hadn’t heard from Namu since he had the rod.

“Stop badgering him, Bakura,” Ryou sighed. “Let’s just get home and get some chocolate, okay?”

Nasir looked up at Bakura to see the thief still glaring at him. Nasir narrowed his eyes. “Don’t blame me because you’re spiralling without him,” he hissed. “That’s your problem.”

Bakura started, and Ryou seemed to be making a conscious effort not to look at him. Bakura finally looked away, and a dull sense of satisfaction brewed in Nasir’s stomach, just above the fear that had been boiling there since the roof.

“You don’t know shit,” Bakura muttered, “so don’t act like it.”

“I won’t-” Nasir held Ryou’s hand tighter. “-if you don’t act like _you_ know shit.” Ryou winced, but Bakura just grunted. The rest of the walk to Ryou’s apartment was done in silence, and they reached the building just as it began to turn dark.

As the hot chocolate brewed, Bakura confined himself in his room. Ryou chatted with Nasir as they pulled out the couch. Nasir’s chest was strangely heavy, and he kept looking at Bakura’s door.

Ryou followed his gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Did he take his tablets?” Nasir asked. He remembered them - small, pink things he had seen in the bathroom one day.

Ryou just smiled. “Not yet.” He tugged the blanket down over the couch. “Are you taking tablets?”

Nasir shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He frowned. “Malik ran away before she could give us anything.” As always. Malik always fucking ran when things got hard. It was almost a surprise that he hadn’t run from Bakura yet.

“Do you want to book another appointment?” Ryou fluffed out a pillow and let it drop on top of the duvet. “She might be able to give you something.”

Nasir shrugged. Not now. He didn’t want to bother ringing her. He couldn’t remember her name. “Malik can deal with it,” he decided. He was forced to deal with enough shit - Malik could deal with an uncomfortable phone call and appointment.

“Okay.” Ryou took Nasir’s hand and squeezed it. “If that’s what you want.” He didn’t. He wanted to stop. “Now let’s get the hot chocolate before it goes cold.” No, he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to be. Malik wanted to stop, and if he wanted to stop, then why the fuck couldn’t Nasir _be_ instead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nasir's not bitter at allllllll. But hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! See you Wednesday.


	10. Chapter 10 | For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura: Did you have dinner?  
> Malik: Yeah, I had a salad! Well, it was a fruit salad. Mostly made of grapes. Okay, entirely of grapes. Fermented grapes.  
> Bakura:  
> Malik: Wine. I had wine for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mothers and fuckers of AO3, I have now registered to change my name by deed poll! It'll take a few weeks to process but AAAAAAA I'm so HAPPY!!! You guys have no idea how long I've been waiting for this! Oof also sorry that this chapter was a week late. Honestly it wasn't even for a valid reason this time - I just forgot lol. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

**CW: Asthma attack, dissociation, mentions of murder, sensory issues**

* * *

 

Malik’s eyes flickered open and he pushed himself up with a small groan. His body ached - especially his right shoulder. He must have slept on it. He glanced around. Ryou’s apartment - the couch. His eyebrows furrowed into a frown. How had he gotten back?

He slid off the couch, and the floor was cold on his bare feet. Winter was setting in. He made his way into the kitchen. The curtains were still closed, and a dull light was filtering through them, but it wasn’t quite bright enough. Malik turned the light on and glanced at the clock. Just after six. No one was up yet.

He wandered over to the fridge and pulled it open, then closed it. What was he doing? He wasn’t hungry. 

He opened it again and scanned the contents before stealing an orange. He wasn’t hungry. He nudged the door closed with his foot and began to peel the orange. A scribbled note pinned to the fridge by a blue smiley-face magnet caught his eyes, and he pulled it down.

**Nasir - if you’re hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge. I’ll be up at eight to go to work, but Bakura should be up around noon - Ryou.**

Malik scowled. Who the fuck was Nasir-? Oh. The orange slipped from his hands and rolled over to the wall. _ You also appear to have Dissociative Identity Disorder. _ Another personality. Was that Nasir? It had to have been. He frowned at the note. No. No, maybe Ryou just brought someone home that night called Nasir. But what were the chances of that? Ryou never brought someone back to his apartment. To Malik’s knowledge, he hadn’t hooked up with anyone in months.

The note crumpled in his hand and he hurled it at the window. It bounced off the glass and dropped down into the sink. Malik strode over to the disposal switch and turned it on, watching as the note was shredded. 

He took a few slow breaths and grabbed his coat from the back of one of the chairs. He needed a walk. Now. He walked out of the apartment and down onto the footpath without pausing to think about it.

He didn’t even focus on where he was going. He couldn’t. Every time he tried, he fell into a spiral of trying to remember what he had been doing for the past ten, twenty, thirty, forty minutes, and he could always remember eventually, but then it was another ten, twenty, thirty, forty minutes later. 

His feet ached, and he could almost feel a blister forming on his right sole. He glanced down. Fuck. He had never put on shoes. Well that made some sense. Once he became aware of it, the pinpricks of pain from stones hit him, and he walked on his toe with large steps to get to the bench a few feet down the road, stapled down at the front of a building. A grey-slab building with a copper plate on the front and a small, brown door. He stared at it for a moment before walking towards it.

When he pushed open the door, the secretary looked up from her desk and froze. Malik just wiped his feet on the mat and made his way over to her. They still hurt, but not as much. “Is Hasegawa-san free?”

“I… will check that for you now.” She forced a smile. “You can sit in the waiting room, and if she isn’t, I’ll get you someone else for a walk-in.”

“Thank you.” Malik nodded and walked into the waiting room. No one was there. Of course no one was there - it wasn’t even nine. They weren’t even open an hour.

He sank into the couch and subtly checked the soles of his feet. Filthy, a blister or two, and a few scrapes and puncture wounds from small stones, but nothing more severe. He was lucky he hadn’t stepped on glass. He let out a slow breath and leaned his head back. Fuck.

“Marik?” 

He looked up at Hasegawa and couldn’t bring himself to force a smile. “Good morning.”

Her forehead was creased but she beckoned him to follow her. “Come on in and we’ll chat.” 

Malik pushed himself out of the chair and walked after her, his weight on the sides of his feet. The cuts were beginning to sting, and he didn’t want to aggravate them.

Once they were in her room, Hasegawa opened a small cabinet in the corner that Malik had never paid much attention too and withdrew a pair of grey slippers. “Here.” She set them down in front of him before sitting. “Your feet must hurt.” 

“A bit,” he admitted. He sat on the edge of the chair and slipped them on. “I walked from Bakura’s.”

“Did you walk straight here?”

Malik stared at the carpet. “I’m not sure.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb against his knuckle. 

Hasegawa leaned forward, elbow resting on her knee. “Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”

Malik nodded. “I remember you saying I have sensory issues, CPTSD, anxiety and depression, and probably D.I.D,” he said, “and I remember leaving, but- but I called Bakura and-” His breath caught on an inhale and he forced himself to take another, slower. “-and I don’t remember what happened after that.”

“What’s the most recent thing you remember after leaving here?”

“This morning.” Malik closed his eyes. “I woke up on Bakura’s couch.”

“And you usually sleep in his bed.”

“Exactly.” Malik’s teeth clenched. “And I went to get some water, and there was a note for someone called Nasir. I thought it might be someone Ryou knew, but- but he never brings anyone home on a whim.” Hasegawa didn’t say anything, so Malik took that as a cue to keep going. “So I went out for some air, and I just- I never knew what was going on. I looked down for a minute, and suddenly it was… half an hour later and I was at the docks. And I could remember the entire journey but it was like I didn’t exist for it. I was there, but I wasn’t. And if Nasir is a…” He stilled. He didn’t know what they were.

“Alter?” Hasegawa suggested.

Malik nodded. “If he’s an… an alter, then I don’t know if he was- in control yesterday, or earlier when I was walking, or any time- I don’t even know if I’m the original or-” He cut himself off and stared at the carpet. Something swelled in his chest, and he wanted to cry. “I don’t even know.”

“That’s alright,” Hasegawa soothed. “This is a new development, and you need time to process it.” She shifted in her seat. “But from the sounds of it, you were in control earlier. Dissociating doesn’t always mean one of your alters is in control - everyone dissociates at times. It’d be great if we were present every moment of the day, and we can try to be, but it doesn’t work like that.” She gave Malik a smile and he did his best to return it, but he didn’t think he quite managed. “It’s perfectly normal, especially given everything you’ve been through and the news you got yesterday.”

Malik relaxed, a little. “But what about Nasir?”

Hasegawa hummed for a moment. “I think with what you’ve told me, it’s entirely possible that Nasir is an alter,” she said, “but it doesn’t sound like you need to worry about him. You said Ryou left a note for him, and you woke up on Ryou’s couch - I doubt they would have left him alone if either he or Bakura thought Nasir was a danger.”

“I guess…” Malik frowned at the ground. When else had he woken up without remembering the day? That time with Atem and Yugi. And a few times in Egypt, especially when he had to work for a long time. One time he’d woken up two weeks after he’d fallen asleep and no one had even noticed. “How do I get rid of him?”

A beat. “It’s possible-” Hasegawa inclined her head, voice slow. “-but very rarely, and even more rarely without consequences. What you’re going to need to do is learn how to work with this and your alters.”

“How?”

“That’s something you’re going to need to learn yourself.” She smiled. “I can help you, but everyone deals with this differently.”

Malik chewed his lip. “So I won’t need to do it alone?” He hated how hopeful he sounded- how tired he sounded. 

“Of course not.” Hasegawa shook her head. “That was never an option.”

* * *

Bakura couldn’t breathe. Ryou was scrambling around the apartment for something, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t. Gold. Gold kept flashing in front of his eyes as he sat staring at the couch with watering eyes. Where was he? Did they get him?

No, they didn’t. They couldn’t. Malik would burn those fuckers to the ground with his ka before they could even touch him- but no, they couldn’t anyway. They were dead. They were as dead as his village, and probably resting in the same place.

What if Malik was there too? With them? No. No, he wasn’t. But Bakura’s chest wound tighter and he choked on what little air his throat was managing to draw in. Ryou crouched in front of him with something small and plastic, a hideous shade of blue. He held it in front of Bakura’s mouth and said something, but Bakura couldn’t hear him. He tried to look at him, but the second he looked away from the couch, everything blurred, and when he tried to find it again, it was gone.

The plastic was pressed past his lips, and cold air was sprayed into his mouth. He hacked against the plastic, and even though he still couldn’t see, he could hear Ryou’s voice. “Breathe, Bakura!” He pressed the inhaler again, and Bakura forced himself to breathe in the medicine. 

He coughed again but his chest began to loosen and he slumped back against the table panting for breath. His vision began to return and he stared up at the cracking ceiling until his breath was only a little faster than normal.

Ryou still knelt beside him, clutching the inhaler in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Here,” he said once Bakura managed to look at him. “Take a sip.”

Bakura reached for the glass, but his grip was too feeble, so Ryou had to tilt the water into his mouth. His tongue felt like sandpaper. Ryou gave him another few sips, and then lowered the glass when Bakura pursed his lips.

“Are you okay?”

Bakura shook his head.

“Can you breathe?”

He nodded. With the water, his breathing speed had gone back to normal, or only slightly above it. He clutched Ryou’s hand. “I-Is he- Is he-” He squeezed his eyes shut. Gold.

Ryou squeezed his hand. “He’s safe,” he admitted. Bakura didn’t know how he knew - he hadn’t seen Ryou on the phone. But he knew. He had to know. He knew. 

They sat in silence until the door clicked, and they both looked up. Malik shuffled in and closed the door behind him, head lowered. None of them spoke as Malik slipped off a pair of slippers Bakura had never seen before- Malik didn’t even look at them. As he turned around, Bakura lunged forward and threw his arms around Malik’s waist.

Malik just managed to catch him, and sank with Bakura to the floor. Bakura buried his face in Malik’s shoulder. He was okay. He was safe. 

“Hey,” Malik whispered, “it’s okay.” 

Bakura sniffed and shook his head. Malik carefully ran his fingers through Bakura’s hair. Bakura heard Ryou’s footsteps behind him, but never looked up. “Where were you?” Ryou asked, his voice cold. 

Malik’s head shifted, and Bakura tightened his arms around him. He couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when Bakura had just gotten him back. 

No, he’s not leaving, a rational part of his mind told him. Sure enough, Malik rubbed his back with his free hand and didn’t move again. “I needed to walk,” he mumbled. 

“You could have left a note. Or turned on your damn phone.” The floorboards underneath Ryou creaked. “Do you know how worried we’ve been about you?”

Malik pursed his lips. “I should have.”

“Well that’s not good enough.”

“Yes it is,” Bakura mumbled, burrowing into Malik’s chest. It was enough as long as Malik didn’t leave again. 

“No it’s not,” Ryou insisted. “Malik, Bakura had an-”

“Ryou-”

“-asthma attack because he-”

“Ryou, knock it off.”

“-didn’t know where the fuck you were!” Ryou finished. Bakura glanced up at him. The other man was standing with his arms folded, almost looming over Malik. 

He’s angry at you. It’s your fault. Bakura squeezed his eyes shut. It was always his fault. No. No, he was angry at Malik- but Malik leaving was Bakura’s fault. He should have woken up, or let Nasir share his bed so Malik wouldn’t wake up alone on the couch. 

Malik held Bakura closer and kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. Bakura started. “I panicked when I woke up, and I saw your note to-” He took a breath. “-to Nasir, so I needed to walk. I dissociated through most of it and ended up going back to my counsellor.”

“You should have left a note-”

“I know.” Malik gave Bakura a squeeze. “But I couldn’t breathe. And I know I should have still done something, but I felt like I was suffocating.”

“It’s fine, Ry,” Bakura mumbled before Ryou could say anything more. 

Ryou sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, just-” He sighed again. “Okay.” He grabbed his coat. “I’m late for work, just-” His words died in his throat and he shook his head. “I’ll see you later.” He pulled on his shoes and slipped outside.

Malik turned back to Bakura and peppered his forehead with kisses. “Are you okay?” Bakura dug his fingers into Malik’s shirt and nodded. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m fine,” Bakura mumbled. He still felt like he was about to throw up, but his breathing had eased and his head didn’t feel like it was about to concave anymore. “Are you?”

Malik nodded and shifted slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” He sighed. “I went to talk to Hasegawa and she… helped.” He swallowed. “I don’t know if I can get rid of Nasir, but-”

“You can’t.” Bakura shook his head. “He’s- fuck, do you want to move to the couch? My knees hurt.”

Malik snorted. “Now I know you’re okay.” He gave Bakura another squeeze before pulling away to stand. Bakura kept hold of his hand and led him over to the couch. Once they were both sitting down, he curled into Malik. Malik ran his fingers through the other’s hair. “I don’t know how you managed to be a spirit for so long,” he mumbled. “You’re so needy.”

Bakura frowned. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” Malik held him closer. “So what were you saying about getting rid of Nasir?”

“Oh, right.” Bakura shook his head. “I was saying you can’t. He’s his own person, Malik. And I know it’s your body but he’s-”

“He tried to kill everyone.” Malik scowled. 

“He tried to protect you.” Bakura sat up a little. “Trust me. He’s not trying to hurt anyone - no more than I am, anyway.” He shook his head. “You didn’t see him-”

“That’s kind of the point.” Malik picked at a loose thread and Bakura’s stomach grew heavy again. “If I can get rid of him- It’s my body.”

“It’s his too.” Bakura took Malik’s hand and squeezed it. 

“Why are you even defending him?” Malik looked at him.

“Because Ryou’s apparently his friend now and gave me a lecture about being nice to him.” Bakura rolled his eyes. “Besides - he’s part of you. And I like you.”

Malik raised one eyebrow, but a small smile graced his face. “Okay.” He sighed. “Did he know why he came out at least?” If he couldn’t get rid of Nasir, maybe he could stop him coming out again. 

Bakura shook his head. “I think it was just because you panicked.” Malik pursed his lips. Come to think of it, saying that to a person with anxiety wasn’t the best thing. Bakura tried again. “He’s only nineteen.”

Malik’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Yeah.” Bakura yawned. “I was looking up some stuff yesterday. It’s called age regression - it’s pretty common for people with D.I.D.”

Malik swallowed. “You looked up stuff on D.I.D for me?”

“I mean it was also for me so I know how to help.” Bakura shrugged. “But yeah, I guess so.” His face felt far too hot. 

Malik pulled Bakura tight against his chest. It was almost uncomfortable, and his hot breath wafted over Bakura’s ear. “You’re amazing,” he whispered.

I know, sprung to Bakura’s lips, but that moment didn’t feel like the right time for a sassy comment. Instead, he nuzzled into Malik’s chest. “So are you.”

* * *

“Okay, so you got the basics down.” Bakura rolled his shoulders back and something at the back of his neck popped. Malik had a feeling it was completely accidental from the pleased smile on the other’s face. “Now let’s try some other stuff.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” He’d been practicing with his heka all month. He’d even managed to make his eyes glow and look like he was actually bleeding on Halloween. Ryou almost forgave him for freaking Bakura out that one time after that - almost. He had absolutely forgiven Malik by the time he managed to make Ryou’s Freddie claws look real though. 

“Spells.” Bakura’s smile grew. “I know a couple - I don’t have them written down though. If you want those, you’ll either need to go to your sister or His Royal Highness.” 

Malik grimaced. Not the most desirable of options. “Okay, I’ll go with your idea,” he agreed. “What are we doing a spell for?”

“Protection,” Bakura decided. Malik frowned. “I figured given how much shit we’ve all gotten into in the past, you could use it.”

Malik managed a small smile. “Are you admitting that you’re worried about me?” He teased. 

“Of course not,” Bakura scoffed. “I just don’t want to lose my body pillow.”

“Mhm.” Malik’s smile grew a little. “And I suppose losing you as my regular pillow would be inconvenient.”

“Exactly.” Bakura shot him with a finger. “So protection spells.” 

“Right.” Malik pushed himself off the bed. “What do we do?” He glanced around his apartment. “Close blinds, light candles-”

“We just need a mirror,” Bakura admitted. “But it’s an every-day spell.”

Malik sighed. “Bakura, I don’t-”

“Even if you don’t do it every day - just-” Bakura looked away from him. Outside, the sky was dimming to orange and horns beeped from the work-time traffic returning home. Malik reached out and took Bakura’s hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Malik sighed and squeezed Bakura’s hand. “Alright,” he mumbled, “I’ll try to remember at least once a week. Deal?”

Bakura nodded in agreement and rested his head against Malik’s arm. “Okay,” he mumbled. He pressed a kiss to the bare skin before pulling back. “Okay, you close the curtains and grab candles - I’ll get a mirror.”

Malik frowned. “I thought we only needed the mirror?”

“Yeah, but a slightly dim room and candles make it look cooler.” Bakura grinned. “We can also turn on the fairy lights and take a selfie beforehand if you want.”

Malik smiled. “That sounds kind of nice,” he admitted. “Okay. But you let me take the photo.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakura waved him off and disappeared to find a moveable mirror. 

Malik dragged the slightly transparent curtains closed. Locating candles was easy enough, so he dragged out the coffee table to the centre of the room and arranged the candles around it. He then flicked on the fairy lights he had strung up above his bed and checked his hair and make-up. His legs were beginning to burn again, and he grimaced as Bakura returned. 

Bakura frowned and set the mirror down. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Malik rubbed the side of his thigh. “My legs just don’t seem to like my jeans.”

Bakura chewed his tongue. “You’ve been saying that about a lot of pants.”

“It’s fine.” Malik waved him off. “It’s been happening since I was a kid. It’s just these ones are worse than normal. Now let’s do the spell.”

Bakura sat on the edge of the bed with the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Finally, he looked at Malik again. “You have SPD right?” After a second, Malik nodded. “Could pants be making your sensory issues act up?”

Malik scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.”

“The other day you literally ripped off your pants when we got home and just lay on the bed for half an hour.” Bakura set the mirror down on the mattress. “Just because some people don’t have it doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing, Mal.”

“Okay, can you stop with the preaching?” Malik sighed. “You’re not my therapist.”

“I’m not trying to be,” Bakura said. “I’m just saying- maybe pants are a sensory issue of yours. I’ve never seen you comfortable in a pair. Ever.”

Malik laughed. “So what?” Even if it was true, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. “I’m meant to wander around the streets half naked? Tell someone it’s a sensory issue if they try to arrest me for public indecency?”

“Well-” Bakura shrugged. “You could try skirts.” 

Malik’s breath caught. No. No, no, no. “I can’t do that.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a guy.” He couldn’t wear skirts. He had already tried as a kid, when he couldn’t get used to pants after wearing robes in the tombs for so long. Rishid had been okay with it, but Ishizu had screamed at him when she found them. 

“So?” Bakura shrugged. “You wear make-up and jewellery. Those aren’t masculine.”

“It’s different.” It was. He had cried when Ishizu had burned his skirts. He and Rishid had left soon after, so it wouldn’t have taken much to try them again but he couldn’t. “Skirts are for women.”

“Mal.” Bakura stood up and moved closer. Malik hadn’t noticed his breath quickening until it slowed when Bakura put his hands on his shoulders. “You’re in Japan. Drag queens’ popularity is one of the reasons there’s an issue with trans people. They’re not-”

“I’m not a drag queen or trans-”

“I’m not saying you are. You don’t have to be.” Bakura squeezed Malik’s shoulders. “I’m just saying skirts might make life easier for you.” Malik stared down at the floor. “How about we go shopping tomorrow or later even and you can try one or two on? See how it feels? We don’t have to buy them.”

“Maybe.” Malik dug his nails into his palm. “I also don’t want to make Ryou uncomfortable.”

“Trust me - he’ll be fine,” Bakura assured him. “He’ll be more uncomfortable about us doing something with a mirror.”

Malik frowned and raised his gaze. “Why would he be uncomfortable with that?”

Bakura waved his hand. “Something occult-fuckery related probably. We can ask him afterwards.” He moved his grip to Malik’s hands. “Now come on. Let’s try this.”

Malik sighed and nodded, helping Bakura set up the mirror against the bedside table. They put the candles around it and Malik knelt in front of the mirror. Bakura stood a little off to the side. “Okay, what do I do?” Malik asked.

“Just repeat these words while channeling some of your heka towards the mirror,” Bakura instructed. He gave Malik four words and repeated them a few times to ensure he had the right pronunciation before letting him continue the spell alone.

Malik stared into the mirror, murmuring the words under his breath. He did his best to keep direct eye contact with himself throughout the spell. It wasn’t the easiest, especially with his heka still running at a low enough energy level not to shatter the mirror but also push some energy into it, but he managed to hold out for a few minutes - until he saw Bakura shift out of the corner of his eye.

“That should be enough,” Bakura mumbled. Malik finished the last chant and stood up from the mirror. “Do you feel any different?”

Malik pursed his lips. No. Not at all. But he wanted to make Bakura feel better. “I think it worked,” he replied, “but I don’t feel different.” Bakura slowly nodded. Malik chewed his lip and looked down. His legs were beginning to feel worse. “Would you mind if I wore skirts?” He asked. “Like… not just because of the sensory thing. Just… in general.” He glanced up.

“Of course not. If that’s what you want to wear, let’s go get some skirts.” Bakura offered him a grin. “But you might want to get a cheap one that you can fuck in too, because I think you’d look hot as fuck in a skirt.”

Malik licked his lips. Ishizu wasn’t around to take them away, and she had grown over the years. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. “And maybe a dress?”

Bakura reached out and took Malik’s hand. “Do you want to?”

“Maybe?” Malik shrugged. “I mean, I could try some on at least.”

Bakura squeezed his hand and smiled. “Then let’s go get you a damn dress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed. Things are going to get a little easier for the next few chapters and then it's going to be wrapped up in five weeks! Hope y'all are as excited as I am.


	11. Chapter 11 | Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryou, at Bakura and Nasir: Two bros chilling in a hot tub five feet apart cause they're not gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this is late but hope you enjoy! An account called @helensrocks is mentioned in the story. It is a real instagram account that does do exactly what is said in the story. Please take a look at it and try to spread it if you can.

**CW: Cancer, Malik's initiation, panicking**

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, you did fucking  _ what _ ?” Ryou demanded, looking up at Malik.

Beneath him, Bakura sighed. “It was a protection spell, Ry. We didn’t summon shit.”

“Still. Mirrors are fuck-y. Don’t mess around with them without at least telling me.” Ryou scowled at Bakura and dipped his brush back into the purple face paint. “You of all people should know better than that, you fucking parasite.”

“And yet, here we are.” Bakura rolled his eyes as Ryou finished the rainbow on his cheek. “It was a spell I’m used to-”

“There’s more magic in the world than just Egyptian,” Ryou pointed out. “Fucking gods, Bakura. If we were in Ireland or Holland-”

“We’re in Japan.”

“Japan has a history too, dickhead.”

“Guys, calm down,” Malik sighed, crossing his legs. “Nothing bad happened.” He adjusted his skirt slightly. He was still getting used to them, but he liked them. A lot more than he wanted to admit. Hasegawa had thought they were a good idea too. “I’ve been doing it for a few days a week and nothing new.”

Ryou leaned back to glare at Bakura. “A few weeks and this is the first I’m hearing of this?”

“Calm down.” Bakura nudged Ryou up so he could climb off the chair and glance at his face in the mirror. “Fuck, I look good.”

“Of course you do,” Ryou sighed. His anger evaporated, shoulders slumping, and now he just looked tired. “Did you at least burn sage? I mean it’s the most low-level thing but please tell me you did that.”

“Nope.” Bakura rubbed a bit of foundation on his cheek to blend it better. “I already told you - we weren’t summoning shit.”

“Still.” Ryou shook his head. “If you didn’t carve the runes correctly on the edge-”

“Wait.” Malik looked up from his Instagram. “Carve runes?”

Ryou frowned. “Yeah. You’re meant to carve runes into the mirror frame specifically to channel energy through it. Also bless the glass. Otherwise it won’t work.” Malik stared at Bakura, who shifted uncomfortably. “You guys are fucking idiots,” Ryou snorted after a moment. “You didn’t do that?” Bakura shook his head. “,Well congratulations. You’ve been chanting meaninglessly into a mirror for the past few weeks.” 

Malik scowled at Bakura. “You’re kidding.”

Bakura shrugged. “I didn’t know - I never did that before and it worked-”

“It worked because you had a god ka, rock hard abs, a good mind for strategy, and a dark god behind you that brought you back to life,” Ryou reminded him. “Or maybe because the mirrors were already carved and blessed by your family since - you know - you were a kid.”

“Maybe.” Bakura frowned. “It’s really been doing nothing?” 

Ryou sighed and cleaned his hands with a baby wipe. “I can whip something up. Malik would need to activate it with his heka daily, but it shouldn’t take more than a few seconds. It’ll protect him from any spiritual harm.”

“Perfect.” Bakura grinned.

“Do I get a say in this?” Malik asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” Ryou picked up his face paint. “Now do you want a pride flag?”

Malik grumbled under his breath but slid off his chair and sat across from Ryou on the couch. He crossed his legs so the other could have more access to his face. 

“Which one?” Ryou dipped his brush in a glass of water to wash it off. “And any pattern?”

“Regular gay one,” Malik replied, “and… I don’t know. You pick.”

Ryou tapped his lip with the brush. “If you want to wear a bit of lipstick or foundation-”

“I’d rather not.” He preferred sticking to kohl, nail polish, and eyeshadow.

“Okay, how about-” Ryou dipped his brush in the red. “-a rainbow curving from here-” He touched the back of the brush to the top of Malik’s cheek. “-to here-” He touched Malik’s forehead. “-with a flower and some glitter?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Malik did his best to sit still and not argue with Bakura as Ryou painted. Any time he talked, Ryou would shush him. It thankfully didn’t take long, and then Ryou disappeared into the bathroom to do his own facepaint. 

Bakura grinned and Malik as the door closed. “My next one was to say ‘stay quiet if you think Trump is sexy’.”

“I think even Ryou would have let me talk if you said that,” Malik snorted, shaking his head. He glanced in the mirror. Ryou had painted two sunflowers at the top of the rainbow and one at the bottom, and a freckling of stars across it. “Does it look good?”

“Mhm.” Bakura nodded. “Much better than mine.”

“That’s just because you demanded a regular rainbow strip!” Ryou called from the bathroom. “Your eyeshadow is on point.”

“It is, to be fair,” Malik admitted, grinning. He grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. “I’m sort of disappointed. I expected pride to be on in summer - or at least when it was a little warmer.”

“Yeah, well Domino’s weird.” Bakura rolled his eyes and checked the braid in his hair again. Ryou had tied two red flowers into it and he couldn’t stop toying with them. “Can you even see the eyeshadow behind my glasses?”

“Yes - you look very cute.” Malik kissed the side of Bakura’s head. 

“Cute wasn’t exactly what I was going for.” Bakura frowned and adjusted his shirt.  **Eating ass is the only ethical consumption under capitalism** was printed across it in block capitals, and Bakura had covered it with glitter. “Do I look punk enough?”

“No - you look like a softie.” Ryou had returned. He tugged his binder slightly, adjusting it under his shirt. “You both ready?” He had painted a trans and bi flag on either cheek, and had put in every piercing he could - eyebrow, septum, lip, snake bites, and the six right ear and three left ear piercings. 

“Yup.” Bakura grabbed his signature red hoodie and pulled it on. “We were just waiting on you.”

“I’m sure you were.” Ryou grinned and grabbed his keys. “Let’s go - the others are meeting us at the park.”

“Atem’s definitely not going to be there?” Malik checked again. If Atem was a trigger for him, he didn’t want it to happen. Not that day. 

“Nah. He doesn’t like the ‘commercialisation’ of pride.” Ryou shrugged. “Yugi will be though.”

“That’s fine.” Malik relaxed a little. The bus down was nerve-wrecking. There didn’t seem to be anyone else going to pride, although one or two had bags that could have been hiding flags. It didn’t help that Ryou lived a good half hour away from the park in traffic, so Malik sat squirming on the seat, convinced that people were staring at him.

Bakura squeezed his hand every couple of minutes, and it helped a little, but he didn’t fully relax until they stumbled off the bus with one of the bag-holders to the beat of drums and  _ Cherry  _ by Rina Sawayama. It was different to what he’d expected. There was no wave of colour despite the sound, no organised march through barricaded streets. 

There was a parade - the closest float to him was a bus of drag queens - but it was only along the one street, and while some people watched, others wandered into various shops or chatted and took photos. The sound didn’t even bother him as much as he’d thought it would - it was almost muted.

“Where are we going?” He forced himself to look over at Ryou.

Ryou grinned, teeth showing, and beckoned for them to follow him. He led them down through three back streets so they could get across the street. Bakura grabbed his hand and muttered something about bubble tea, but Ryou shook his head. “You can get some later!” He called over the music. “There’ll be some at the park.”

“There wasn’t last year.” Bakura frowned but didn’t double back to the Vietnamese take-away restaurant selling it. “And that restaurant does it better.”

“We’ll get some later,” Malik assured him. He wasn’t planning on staying with Yugi’s nerds the whole day, even if Atem wasn’t there.

Bakura hummed and nodded. Ryou pulled out his phone and slowed a little, but once he got a message, he sped up again. “Alright, come on. They’re near the fountain.”

They weren’t. The three wandered around the fountain for a few minutes before picking a path at random and walking down it. They had circled the park at least twice by the time someone called Ryou’s name and they looked up one of the grassy hills sloping up along the sides of the path. Yugi was waving down at them, his hair spiked up, the edges now a royal purple instead of pink and blond. It suited him better. He was sitting in a half-circle with Anzu, Miho, and Mai, and Duke was on his phone a little off to the side.

“Asshole, you weren’t at the fucking fountain,” Bakura complained as they climbed the slope. He dropped down next to Mai. “We were looking for you for like, fifteen minutes.”

“Sorry.” Yugi smiled. “I said we were near the fountain-”

“Next time specify.” Despite his words, Ryou returned the smile, and Malik’s heart hurt for him. That poor man was going to get his heart broken - again. 

“I will, I will,” Yugi assured him, settling back into Anzu’s side again. “Sorry, I’m distracted.”

“That’s fair,” Ryou sighed, leaning back. His hair tumbled over his shoulders and Malik finally got a good look at his shirt, though the rainbow suspenders hid it a little.  **Both? Both? Both. Both is good.** It was written in bi-pride colours. Probably a reference to a show he liked. “It’s warmer than I thought it’d be.”

“It’s not warm enough for a t-shirt.”

Ryou shrugged. “I’m willing to suffer for my aesthetic.” He still wrapped his coat around his shoulders. It would warm up more as the day went on, according to Google, but it was still November. Nearly December. “So what are we doing today?”

“Well the old cinema is showing exclusively queer films,” Mai commented. “If we go, Seto might join us after they give their speech.”

“Atem might too,” Yugi piped up. “Depending on the film.”

Ryou chewed his lip. “What’s on?”

Mai had to pull out her phone to double check the listings. “ _ Love, Simon; Milk; Pride; Three Generations; Boy Meets Girl; Brokeback Mountain; Call Me By Your Name; _ and  _ Moonlight _ .”

Ryou chewed his lip. “ _ Boy Meets Girl _ is an absolute classic.”

“But so is  _ Pride _ .” Yugi countered. 

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that old woman saying, ‘Where are my lesbians,’ again,” Mai admitted, adjusting her corset slightly. 

Ryou sighed but shook his head. “As long as we don’t watch  _ Three Generations _ or  _ Call Me By Your Name _ , I’m okay.”

“What’s wrong with those?” Duke asked, finally looking up from his phone.

“Oh, are you participating now?” Anzu raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, you know I had to work today.” Duke shrugged and pocketed it.

Ryou sighed. “Big age gaps creep me out - especially when someone’s underage - and  _ Three Generations  _ is just bad. It also has unsafe binding, and pushes way too much imagery, and-”

“Okay, we get it. Not  _ Three Generations  _ or  _ Call Me By Your Name _ .” Anzu pursed her lips. “How about  _ Love, Simon _ ? None of us have seen it and it’s meant to be a feel-good film.”

“I’ve read the book,” Bakura admitted. “It wasn’t bad. As far as crappy teen romance novels go, anyway.”

“Okay, is everyone good to watch that?” Mai stretched. 

“As long as it means we get inside, then yes.” Yugi shivered. “I don’t get how you guys can wear t-shirts in this weather.”

“I mean, it’s sunny.” Ryou shrugged. 

“Still.”

Malik leaned his head on Bakura’s shoulder as the two continued bickering. A soft smile graced his face as he glanced down towards the path. A small gaggle of teens, faces still carrying baby fat, wandered away from them, chattering and laughing, flags flying out behind them like capes. This felt normal. No one even mentioned his skirt, though he was certain only Mai had been told - and that was only because Bakura was terrible at clothes shopping, so he had called her to help Malik pick out some skirts and dresses. 

His legs weren’t even burning with the grass tickling them. He adjusted his rainbow waistcoat and kissed Bakura’s cheek. “Want to find some alcohol and bubble tea?”

Bakura’s eyes lit up. “Fuck yes.”

“Not yet,” Ryou called, looking over at them. “We’ll stay together for a bit first.” Bakura frowned. “We’re getting bubble wraps for breakfast.”

Bakura lit up again. “You found it?”

Ryou held up his phone. “Google maps blessed me with knowledge. It’s a ten minute walk away.”

Bakura chewed his lip. “Alright, I suppose we could stay with you until we eat.”

They ended up staying with them while they wandered around the market, ducked into a clothes shop for some good old fashioned capitalism, bought pride-themed donuts, went to the M&M store where they all got make-your-own cups in their pride colours. Malik had, of course, taken photos. He couldn’t let Mai’s hard work at making a perfect sapphic flag go unseen. They stayed until the cinema. Atem had gone in ahead of them to get their tickets, and Malik wasn’t willing to deal with him, so they split up.

“Bubble tea?” Malik checked and Bakura nodded. The Vietnamese restaurant was quiet and cool, a nice escape from the sweaty heat of the crowd. They ordered their teas - Malik got a strawberry juice one with lemon boba while Bakura ordered an ordinary milk one. They also got spring rolls to share and settled down at a small table towards the back of the restaurant to relax.

“This is nice,” Malik murmured, taking a sip of his drink. Bakura pushed his fringe out of his face. “I mean, I kind of thought it would be messier. And louder. And that we’d have to be in the parade. But just hanging out in this-” He gestured to his skirt. “-without getting weird looks is… really nice.”

“It is.” Bakura took his hand and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here for this.”

“Me too.” Malik returned the smile and they finished their tea in silence. 

They emerged from the restaurant a little while later just in time to see a foreign boy with red hair drop something behind a plant, take a photo of the restaurant, and walk away.

Malik cringed. “We could just walk away.” He really didn’t want to have to chase someone down. Not when they were having such a good time. 

Bakura shook his head. “We should at least check.”

It wasn’t a bomb. It couldn’t be. It was too small, and the boy hadn’t done anything other than drop it. And it was Domino - why would anyone attack Domino pride when they could attack Tokyo instead?

Malik still found himself holding his breath as Bakura crouched down to look into the plant pot. “Well?” 

Bakura shook his head and pulled out a small, painted rock. “It’s fine.” He stood up again and showed it to Malik. The rock was painted in the pansexual pride flag colours, with a small, cartoon elephant and the name  **HELEN** over it. Malik frowned and took it, turning it over. On the back was the instagram symbol, sloppily painted, and a username.

“Want to check it?” Bakura asked, watching him.

After a moment, Malik nodded and pulled out his phone. He typed it into the search bar -  **helensrocks** . It was a small page - less than five hundred followers.  **Helen, 29/07/1970-17/12/2017** sat as the name, and the posts were full of painted rocks like the one they had just found.

Malik reloaded the page and a new one came up - the one from the restaurant. The boy was holding it with a small smile - he had the same suspenders as Ryou, and a shirt that read  **PRIDE** in rainbow letters. 

Malik scanned the photo description.  **This photo was placed in Domino, Japan. I made a bunch of pride rocks and left them all across Domino. I made them because my mom was always really supportive and did her best to be understanding with me, and I know that if she could have been here with me today, she would be. These ones are very special to me, and this and Dublin pride have been a little bittersweet, but I’m proud of who I am and I know my mom was too.** A little further down, it continued, **My mother died in December. She loved to travel, and elephants were her favourite animal, so we put these rocks for her worldwide in memory of her. If you make a rock and put it anywhere, please send us a message with a photo and your name and location. For every rock placed, we will donate €5 to cancer research in your name.**

“What does it say?” Bakura asked, and Malik had to blink a few times. He almost hadn’t clicked that it was in English, and though Bakura could speak it, he couldn’t read it very well.

“It, uh-” He shook his head. “It’s rocks that this guy made in memory of his mother. She died from cancer, I think. He’s been putting them everywhere he goes and he donates money to charity. He’s also asking others to make them.” Bakura slowly nodded, and watched as Malik replaced the rock in the plant. He glanced at the page again before following it. “Come on. The others will be out soon. We should get that vodka.”

Bakura nodded and followed him through the crowd. After a few minutes, when they had made their way through to a quieter area, he murmured, “We should make one and send it to him. We could put it somewhere near the apartment.”

Malik hummed. “What about the mountain next time we go there?” He suggested. It would have a nice view. “Or we could do more than one.”

Bakura nodded and took Malik’s hand. “I think my father had cancer,” he mumbled. “I don’t know, obviously. But… he was losing his memory when he died, and he couldn’t move well. He couldn’t breathe. He would have died anyway - he was just… lying in bed. He’d been asleep for two days when they came.”

Malik squeezed, and kissed the top of Bakura’s head. “We’ll do a few,” he murmured, “and we’ll message to see if we can help.” Bakura nodded, and Malik ran a thumb over his phone in his pocket. Maybe it was time to call his siblings.

* * *

Bakura was not a heavy sleeper. He had never picked up the habit, even when he came back to a world of pillows and duvets and locks on doors. So he woke relatively quickly when Malik began to shift in the bed.

He pushed himself up on his forearms and turned to look at his partner. Malik was blurry, and then Bakura remembered to shove on his glasses. The other didn’t move a lot in his sleep, so once Bakura saw the frown marring his face, he touched Malik’s arm. “Mal?” He whispered. “Mal, wake up.” Malik whined slightly and curled into a tighter ball. “Shit, Malik, it’s just a dream.” Bakura began tapping Malik’s arm. 

After a moment, Malik’s eyes flashed open and fixed on Bakura, wide and terrified. He whined again and squeezed them shut. 

Bakura wound his arms around Malik. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It was just a dream. It’s okay.”

Malik shook his head but it took him a minute to be able to vocalise anything. “The- the-” His voice didn’t even work well for another little while. Bakura wasn’t entirely sure that Malik recognised him.

He hadn’t managed to get an explanation from him by the time something changed. He had suspected beforehand - Malik only had four different recurring nightmares - but he was certain when Nasir raised his head, looking confused and tired. 

“What happened?”

“He dreamt about the initiation,” Nasir mumbled, “and didn’t want to deal with it.”

Bakura sighed and released Nasir. “Couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with it.”

“Maybe.” Nasir looked away again and it took Bakura most of his control to pull him close again. “What are you doing?”

“What Google said to do.” 

**Try to treat the alter the same as you would the host** , the website had read.  **It might make them feel more comfortable around you** . From the expression on Nasir’s face, it hadn’t worked.

“I’m not Malik.”

“I know.” Bakura gave him a squeeze. “I don’t think you are.”

Nasir squirmed slightly. “Then why are you treating me like him?”

“I’m not.” Okay, so that website was bullshit. “I just thought you might like a hug.”

“I-” Nasir grimaced and shifted onto his side. “I guess I don’t mind it.” 

He glanced around the room. They had spent the night at Malik’s. Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Have you been here before?” 

Nasir shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he mumbled. “I think I know it but I’ve never been fronting when we were here.” 

Bakura nodded. “Do you know why you’re out now?”

Nasir scowled. “I already told you. Because Malik’s a fucking bitch who can’t deal with his own fucking emotions.” He twisted onto his other side so his back was to Bakura. “He shoves me out when he gets scared and then complains about it.”

Bakura couldn’t resist it. “I think he was more complaining about you killing people.” He saw Nasir move again. Fuck, he was meant to be nice. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Nasir scoffed. “I like it more when you’re like that. I don’t like you very much and I know you don’t like me, so don’t act like it.” He sat up. “I do like your host though. Where is he?”

“Piss drunk and probably lamenting over Yugi not liking him.” Bakura rolled his eyes. “Pride was today.”

“Oh.” Nasir blinked. “That explains it.”

“The nightmare?”

Nasir nodded. “Most of the tombs weren’t bad about gay people but it wasn’t a thing of love - it was procreation. Everyone needed to have at least one kid, regardless of who they married.” Nasir’s gaze ran around the room and landed on the gay pride flag draped over the chair. Bakura had bought it for Malik from a stand near the cinema. “But his father followed another branch of the religion - the one that condemned Set.”

Bakura had come across a good few of those in his time. They weren’t the most popular of groups, but they were loud, and theirs was one of the few surviving views, and was taken as the idea of the pantheon as a whole rather than that of part of it.

“And Malik’s gay as shit. He even sounds fucking gay.” Nasir shook his head. “He didn’t do anything, but his father thought he was getting too friendly with one of the boys coming up to the initiation. That’s what the wings were for.”

“The wings weren’t part of it?” Bakura whispered. 

“They didn’t have to be.” Nasir shook his head. “But he wanted to make it more. He wanted to punish him for something he didn’t even do.” Nasir’s nails dug into the sheets. 

Bakura had to reach over and pry them loose. “I don’t think the hotel will like it if you rip their sheets.”

“Serves them right,” Nasir muttered. “And Malik. He has too much money.”

“On that we can agree.” Bakura glanced around the room. He began to notice how lavish it was again - it wasn’t that he never noticed, but he had almost tuned it out. Now he noticed the heavy velvet curtains, the twelve hundred thread count duvet, the elaborate painting hung above the King-sized bed. “But don’t rip the sheets.”

Nasir scoffed. He reached a hand back and ghosted it over the top of his spine. “It’s the only thing I wanted gone,” he muttered. “Just the wings. But they’re still fucking there.”

“I did my best with them,” Bakura mumbled, “but they’re too deep and old.”

“I know.” Nasir kicked the duvet away. “I want to watch something.”

Bakura’s eyebrows arched. Just like that? “So you’re done?” Nasir glanced at him. “You were talking so much shit there I just assumed you wanted to rant.”

“No.” Nasir stood up. “I just want to watch something and enjoy the body while I’ve got it, honestly.” He made his way towards the couch in the next room.

Bakura glanced at the clock and followed him. Fucking half eight. If Nasir was going to insist on getting up at such an ungodly hour, Bakura was going to annoy him. “So pride stuff triggers Malik?”

“Probably.” Nasir shrugged. “Or something else did and that added to it. I don’t fucking know.” He flopped onto the couch and grabbed the remote. He flicked through a few channels before settling on a cartoon Bakura didn’t know the name of.

“How don’t you know?” Bakura sat on the arm of the couch beside Nasir. “I thought alters could talk to each other.”

“Some can.” Nasir shrugged again, just one shoulder this time. “I met someone called Sasha online once who could talk to one alter but not the host. He only picked the name Sasha to piss off the host, and the host didn’t even know he was fucking there.”

“So alters pick their own names?”

“Some do.”

“Did you?” Nasir shrugged again, and Bakura rubbed his forehead. “Okay so you can’t talk to anyone.”

“I didn’t say that.” Nasir didn’t even look at him. “I could when I had the Rod.”

“Okay. Well we’re not trying that.” Bakura folded his arms and leaned back against the couch cushion. It was an odd angle, but he was tired, and his body was still sore from pride. “Who could you talk to?”

“Amir and Kek.” Nasir paused. “And Namu.”

“So Namu wasn’t just made up? And Kek isn’t just Malik’s Ka?”

“No, Kek isn’t just his fucking ka. And where do you think he got the name Namu?” Nasir glanced at Bakura. “I don’t think Malik was expecting to actually meet the Pharaoh at Battle City, so he created Namu to deal with that.”

That explained the aversion to even looking at Atem. Not that there was any extra excuse needed. Bakura slowly nodded. “And Kek and Amir? What are they for?”

“I don’t know their triggers.” Nasir sighed and leaned his head back. “I only talked to them a little, and Kek just kept making a bunch of sex jokes. You know what he made us say once? Daddy. In the middle of a fucking meeting with ghouls, he made us say daddy. He’s an asshole.”

Bakura tried not to laugh. “Come on, that’s pretty funny.”

“No. Not in a meeting.” Nasir paused. “It was funny afterwards though. Malik was convinced he was possessed. He was freaking out about cleansing the place.”

“And you didn’t think to correct him?”

“I couldn’t talk to him.” Nasir finally glanced over at Bakura. “None of us could. None of the alters I know of anyway.”

“Oh.” Bakura frowned. “So you’ve never actually talked to him?”

“That’s what I said.” Nasir looked at the screen again. “Now are you going to let me watch this or not?”

Bakura fell silent for a minute, struggling to focus a little with the too-loud voices and over-dramatic sound effects as background noise. “What if you could?” Nasir looked up. “Talk to him?”

After a moment, Nasir shook his head. “I couldn’t even talk to him with the Rod. How am I meant to do it now?”

Bakura grinned. “You could write him a letter.” Nasir rolled his eyes. “No, hear me out. I know this sounds like the kind of shit my host would say, but it might help both of you. Even if it’s just you screaming at him about getting his shit together, it might make you feel better because you’re letting it out, and he might be less scared about all of this.” Nasir frowned and Bakura paused. “Don’t just scream at him to get his shit together though. He’s working on it.”

“I…” Nasir’s frown deepened. “You think he’d read it?”

“I’ll make sure he does.” Bakura nodded. “I could even get a nice notebook from Ryou for you to write it in if you want? That way, he can respond and any other alters that come out can write something.” Ryou had too many anyway. Surely he wouldn’t miss one.

Nasir glanced at the television. “Can we hang out with Ryou for a bit if we go to get the notebook?” He mumbled. “I like him. He likes the same horror films as me.” 

Bakura grimaced. “As long as you don’t drag me into that discussion, then yes. We can go and see him once you shower.” He had the day off, and maybe a visit would drag him out of his post-pride-and-Yugi depressive spiral. 

“Great.” Nasir stood up. “Will you show me how to turn it on?”

“The shower?” Bakura quirked an eyebrow. When Nasir nodded, he groaned, but heaved himself off the couch. “Alright, come on. But you’d better pay attention for next time, because I’m only showing you once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So @helensrocks is a real instagram account that does do exactly what is said in the story. Please take a look at it and try to spread it if you can. Please review, and I'll see you nerds next week.


	12. Chapter 12 | The

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakura: When you've been alive as long as I have, you learn to develop thick skin.  
> Ryou: Red isn't your colour.  
> Bakura: Red compLIMENTS MY SKIN TONE YOU PRICK!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Sorry this is late but it's been a wild few days. I say that every week, rip. But I told my gran about my name/gender change and she acknowledged it so we're going to talk about it next weekend, and I actually told the girl that I like that I liked her and we're going to go out on a date at some stage! So yeah a pretty good week for me! Happy Valentine's Day and I'll try to update on time next week rip. Enjoy!

**CW: Drunkenness, family arguments, mixing with alters**

* * *

 

“They were _so_ pretty,” Ryou sighed, leaning his head back. “Like fuck me gently with a chainsaw pretty.”

“Damn,” Bakura whistled. “I haven’t heard you say that about anyone since Yugi.”

“Yeah, well Seto’s grown into themself.” Ryou twisted around to lay on his stomach on the couch. He was almost sprawled across Bakura’s lap. “And they’re pretty.”

“He- sorry, they might kill you if they heard you say that,” Malik commented, taking a sip of coffee. Winter had set in far too soon for his liking, but Ryou’s coffees were a godsend on cold December days after a few hours of looking for a job. “I didn’t talk to them much but they were pretty-”

“Weren’t they?” Ryou smiled at him. Bakura stole the bottle of wine off the table. “Hey, give that back!”

“I think that’s enough for you.” Bakura set the bottle down, hiding it behind the arm of the couch. 

Ryou frowned at him. “Excuse you, I’m an adult, and I can decide when I’ve had enough for myself.” He looked at his mug, still half full. “And I say one more mug is the perfect amount.”

“I think Bakura’s right, honey.” Malik leaned forward. “Drink a bit of water and then you can have more later.”

“I’m fine!” Ryou protested. “I’m not upset.”

“We never said you were, but you’ve been calling Kaiba pretty for the past twenty minutes.” Bakura pushed the wine bottle a little further away. “Sober up a bit before you have anymore.” 

Ryou grumbled and grabbed his mug, cradling it against his chest. “Well they are pretty.”

“You know what? Fair.” Bakura shook his head. “I’m just glad you’re not still pining after Yugi.”

“Fuck, Yugi’s pretty too.”

Malik shot Bakura a look, and the latter shrugged. “He gets like this when he sees pretty boys.”

“They’re not a boy,” Ryou corrected, taking another sip.

“Okay, pretty people then.” Bakura rolled his eyes. “Why the sudden obsession?”

“I saw them at pride.” Ryou shrugged. “They gave a speech and recognised me and came up to talk to me afterwards.”

“Yeah, well did they fucking apologise for what they put you through in Battle City?” Bakura raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his wine - out of a wine glass. Malik was almost proud of him. 

“As a matter of fact-” Ryou pointed at Malik, even though Bakura was the one who had spoken. “-yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Ryou nodded firmly. “They said they were sorry for what happened and they should have reacted better to the situation.” 

Malik waited for a moment. “And?” There was always an and. Regardless of how much Kaiba had changed, they were manipulative as hell, and learned behaviour like that didn’t just _go away_ after a few years.

“And…” Ryou wrinkled his nose. “And that they were being affected by the items.”

Bakura slammed his glass on the table. “Bull fucking shit!”

“Bakura!” Malik scolded. “You nearly fucking broke the glass!”

Bakura waved off his concerns - he probably didn’t care. It was one of Ryou’s, so if he had broken it, he would have just stolen another to replace it. “Seto fucking Kaiba was not affected by them! I don’t care if they were a priest in their past life - Malik had the Rod the entire time. Maybe if Seto had held it - maybe then they’d have been affected but-”

“Bakura, shush,” Ryou whined. “I know they weren’t affected by them. I’m not that naive.”

“You’re starting to act like it,” Bakura grumbled. He picked up his glass again to take another sip of wine. 

Malik rolled his eyes and looked back at Ryou. “Honey, if you know they’re lying, then why are you even bothering?”

“Because they’re not lying.” Ryou moved, propping his legs up on the cushions. His head lolled off the side of the couch. “They think they were affected by the items. And they’re better. They’re really doing better.”

Something heavy settled in the bottom of Malik’s stomach. “You already have a date with them, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Ryou cheered, sitting up again. “They text me earlier. I’m going to dinner with them tomorrow.”

Bakura leaned down and hit his head off the coffee table, three deliberate times, and then let it rest there. “You know what? I’m not even fucking surprised.”

“I am.” Malik shook his head. “I didn’t think Kaiba would have the balls to ask you out.”

“They didn’t.” Ryou’s smile grew. “I asked them.”

“Oh shit.” Bakura sat up. “You know what? I’m fucking proud now.” He reached over and ruffled Ryou’s hair. “Well done.”

Ryou pouted and pushed Bakura’s hand away. “I’m not a child - it’s not like this is the first time I’ve asked someone out.”

“It’s one of them, and it’s Seto Kaiba. I’m proud,” Bakura repeated. “Maybe you do get more wine-”

“No.” Malik shook his head. “You’ve both had more than enough wine.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked the screen. Ishizu. “I’m going to get you both some coffee - you both need to sober up.” 

He made sure to grab the wine bottle on his way into the kitchen. Once inside, he glanced back at Ryou and Bakura. Bakura was back to complaining about Kaiba, loudly. 

He closed the door, and moved to leaned over the counter. His phone had stopped buzzing, and started again. It wouldn’t stop until he answered it. Finally, he closed his eyes and hit the answer button. “Hello?”

“ _Malik?_ ” Ishizu called down the phone. “ _Are you there?_ ”

“I’m here.” Malik cleared his throat and set the bottle on the table. “How are you?”

_“I’m doing well.”_ He could hear tapping in the background - she was working. Of course she was. _“We have more_ artifacts _on their way soon, so I wanted to contact you before then.”_

“Oh.” Malik swallowed. That made sense. Ishizu tended to fall into another dimension when she was getting in new artifacts. That might explain the radio silence - though he hadn’t contacted her either. “How many new shipments have there been?”

_ “This is the first since you left.” _

Or not. “How’s Rishid doing?” He changed the topic. He knew full well that Rishid was fine and getting on well with his course, but he wasn’t sure that Ishizu knew he was still emailing his brother and hadn’t extended her the same courtesy.

_ “He’s alright. He’s struggling a bit with his exams.” _

Malik’s gut twisted. He had always helped Rishid study. “When are they this year?”

_ “Next week. He’ll have winter break then and he’ll be helping out at the museum.” _

“Oh.” Malik rolled his shoulders back. “Well that’ll be nice.”

_“Indeed.”_ The tapping stopped and a chair creaked. _“Will we be expecting you back? Or are you going to stick with this fool’s errand?”_

Malik grit his teeth for a moment. “I’m happier here than I was in Egypt,” he insisted. “For one I don’t have to hide being gay. Secondly, I have a better counsellor. I have friends. I’m looking for a job-”

_ “You haven’t found one yet?” _

“I’m working on it.”

Ishizu gave a heavy sigh. _“Malik, it’s been three months. You can’t keep this up forever. If you come back before winter break ends, I’m sure the museum will take you back-”_

“I’m not going back,” Malik growled. Something felt off. His head was pounding, but his vision wasn’t going, so he wasn’t worried about switching with Nasir again. Or any of the others- from what Bakura said, there were a few. 

_ “You’re an Ishtar. You belong here.” _

“I belong with people who actually care about me!” Malik yanked the phone away from his ear and hung up. He turned it off as well, in case Ishizu tried to call him back. He wasn’t going. He wasn’t.

“Malik?” 

Malik turned to see Bakura and Ryou in the doorway. They both looked worried. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. “My sister just called.” He looked outside. In the parking lot below, a child screamed and tugged at the bag in her mother’s arm. “I don’t want to go back.”

“I know.” Bakura walked over to him and carefully wrapped his arms around Malik’s waist. “You don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to.” 

Malik relaxed against his chest. Something still felt wrong - like he wasn’t wholly himself. He had an appointment soon; he could talk to Hasegawa about it then. “Yeah.” He closed his eyes and took a slow breath before turning. He stayed in Bakura’s arms, but gave Ryou a smile. “Do you want help picking out an outfit for tomorrow, honey?”

Ryou returned it slightly. He looked more sober than a few minutes before. “If you wouldn’t mind.” Definitely more sober.

“Of course not.” Malik’s smile grew. “Where are you going?”

“Um…” Ryou pulled out his phone to check. “I think we’re going to one of the restaurants in the Marriott.” He paused. “Fuck I need to dress up for that.”

Malik stared. “Please tell me you have a suit. A nice one.” 

Ryou shook his head. “I- I have a shirt and dress pants, but- fuck, my new binder isn’t even here-”

“Okay, honey, grab your coat.” Malik checked his wallet. Good, he had his card. “We’re going suit shopping.”

“I don’t have money for this, Malik.” Ryou groaned and leaned against the wall. “I’ll just-” He pinched his forehead. “I’ll make up an excuse. They're paying for the meal but I can't-”

“Nope.” Bakura shook his head. “This is the healthiest crush you’ve had in your life. You’re telling them that you can’t afford it and you want to go somewhere else.”

“No, neither of those things are happening.” Malik pocketed his wallet again. “I’ll cover it. Think of it as an early Christmas present.” Ryou was the only one he knew who still celebrated Christmas anyway, so it didn’t matter. 

Ryou looked up at him. “No. No, that’s too much. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not.” Malik shrugged. “Besides, I have too much money for someone who isn’t working.” Bakura blinked a few times. “Go get your coat and I’ll sort it out, okay?”

Ryou shook his head and ran to hug Malik, then noticed him tense. He stopped before they could touch. “Thank you!” He darted out of the room to get his coat and shoes, and maybe a shirt that didn’t smell of wine.

“You feeling okay?” Bakura asked after a moment. 

Malik gave him a smile. “Of course.” He kissed Bakura’s nose and the other relaxed. “It’ll be my good deed for the week. Besides, he deserves a nice date.”

Bakura hummed and glanced at the door. “Yeah. I guess he does.” Malik glanced at his phone. One of the pages he had been studying was still open in his browser. Bakura looked at it over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“A surprise.” Malik pocketed it. He had asked Rishid to send him scans of a few spellbooks to ‘study’. Ryou reappeared at the door and Malik took Bakura’s hand. “Come on - the sooner we get there, the sooner we can get pizza or something afterwards.”

Bakura grinned. “Can’t argue with that.”

* * *

Takashi smiled when she looked into the waiting room and spotted Bakura. “Morning, Bakura. How are you doing?”

Bakura nodded. “I’m okay.” He stood and followed her down to her room. Instead of walking up the stairs, she led him to the room just beyond them. “You’ve moved.” 

“Yeah, I decided to switch it up.” Takashi smiled and held the door open for him. This room was purple with an old dark brown carpet, and two near-identical cushioned armchairs. Bakura sat in the one with the green cushion, and Takashi took the one with the yellow duck cushion. “So how’s your week been?” 

“It’s been okay.” Bakura nodded. “Ryou went on a date with someone, so that was nice to watch. And I found out Malik has at least four alters, so Namu wasn’t an act so that’s fun.” He drummed his fingers on the seat. “And we’re going on a date soon.”

“That sounds nice.” Takashi nodded. “But how have you been feeling?” 

Bakura hesitated. “Okay? I guess?” He shrugged. “It’s not a good week but it’s not bad. I’m just tired.”

Takashi nodded again. “Do you need some time alone?” Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Without Malik, I mean. You’re quite introverted. Maybe just some relaxation time on your own would be good for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Bakura mumbled after a moment. “He gives me energy.”

Takashi sighed. “I know you enjoy spending time with him, but you’re still using him.” Bakura opened his mouth to argue. “As a coping mechanism,” Takashi amended. “And it’s not healthy. For either of you.”

Bakura huffed and leaned back in his seat. “Damn. I thought we’d at least chat for a bit before you tried psycho-analysing me.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.” Takashi wrote something on a sticky note and pinned it to the top of her clipboard. “But it’s something I believe you need to address.” Bakura grunted and Takashi looked up at him again. “Have you been taking your antidepressants?”

Bakura didn’t look at her. This played right into what she wanted to talk about. “No,” he mumbled. “I don’t need to right now.” Although his mood had been dropping with his energy levels, but he was just tired. He was fine. He didn’t need them- not when he had Malik.

“Because of Malik.” It wasn’t a question. “Bakura, if there was something wrong with your liver, would spending time with Malik fix it?” 

Bakura shrugged. “I mean, if he was a surgeon maybe.”

“Right. But he’s not.” Takashi shook her head. “And even if he was a surgeon, he’d need the right equipment and medication, and possibly a replacement liver to help. So why are you treating your mental illnesses any differently?”

“Because-” Bakura dug his nails into the arms of the chair. “It’s all in my head. I don’t need them when he’s around. He’s helping-”

“But he’s not fixing it.” Takashi offered a smile. “And of course they’re in your head. If they weren’t, they’d be called something else.” Bakura shrugged one shoulder. “Bakura, this isn’t a thing of you having bad mental health. This is an illness. You need to treat it right, or it just gets worse.”

“Are you trying to get me to walk out again?” Bakura looked up at her. “Because it’s going that way.”

“If it is, then why did you come back?” Takashi raised an eyebrow. 

“I-” Bakura scowled. “Ryou and Malik are worried about me and I figured this would help them calm the fuck down.”

“Why don’t you worry about yourself before them?”

“Because I can’t.” Bakura scowled. “Ryou’s a self-destructive ball of anxiety, and Malik was acting weird yesterday.”

“How weird?”

“Like he wasn’t himself. But I know for a fact it wasn’t an alter.” Bakura shook his head. “At least I don’t think it was. He was almost acting like how Nasir described Kek.”

“Well he could have been mixing.” Bakura frowned, so Takashi elaborated. “It’s when two or more alters are almost fronting at the same time. It can happen when something minorly triggered the person, or even without it.”

“Oh.” Bakura looked at the floor pattern. It was new - diamonds instead of circles - and he wanted to memorise it. “Yeah, that’s probably what was happening.”

“Even if it’s not, you need to learn how to distance yourself from Ryou and Malik’s issues.” Takashi crossed her legs, right over left. “Malik’s coming to therapy here with another counsellor, and Ryou is going somewhere else on and off again. You need to deal with what’s happening for you.”

“But they’re what’s happening for me.”

“Bakura, you’re not responsible for the dysfunction of others.” Bakura scowled down at his feet, and Takashi sighed. “Why are you so against taking your antidepressants?”

Bakura pursed his lips. “I already told you. I don’t need them.”

“I don’t think you’re being honest - either to me or yourself.” Takashi leaned back, pressing against the cushion behind her. “Are you scared?”

Bakura’s scowl darkened and he hunched over his lap. No, of course not. Maybe. A little. He mumbled, “When I started them, I was… anxious. All the time. I couldn’t sleep at night. And I got spots, and I was getting sick-”

“Part of that comes with starting new medication,” Takashi admitted, “but that sounds like you’re allergic to the ones you were on.” She frowned. “But your records didn’t show any signs of allergies to any ingredients.” Bakura kept his gaze down. “Bakura?”

“I was just really anxious, and I couldn't... I couldn't turn off,” he mumbled. “I was sick, but it- that was just food poisoning, I just- I don’t want to go on them anymore.”

“Why not?” Takashi pressed. “Can you tell me?”

Bakura’s eyes slipped closed and he had to take a slow breath. “I don’t want anything to change. I- Malik might-” His eyes squeezed, as though he was struggling to keep them shut.

“Leave?”

Bakura slowly nodded. He couldn’t handle anyone leaving. And he couldn’t handle Malik leaving. Not again.

“Bakura, from the sounds of it, he really likes you. You’ve been together for a few months now - I don’t think he’s going to leave you if you react badly to medication that you need to take.” Bakura glanced at Takashi and she gave him a smile. “If he needed to take medication for his D.I.D, would you leave if he had a bad reaction?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why would he leave if the same happened to you?” Takashi shrugged and set her clipboard down. “And I’m sure he’d agree with me in saying that if you were dating someone who did leave because of something like that, then they’re not someone who deserves to date you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Please remember that your partner isn't going to leave you for something like this and you deserve to be happy and healthy. Please review!


	13. Chapter 13 | Exact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik: Honey, can you pass me the butter?  
> Bakura: *reaches for the butter*  
> Ryou: *also reaches for the butter*  
> Mai: *walks in carrying a stick of butter* The door was unlocked, you needed this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I finally updated on time for once! Ey!! I've sent off two of my essays now so hopefully they'll go well. I might post my creative writing pieces here at some stage as fanfiction but I'm not entirely sure just yet. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!

**CW: Depressive spiral, dissociating, mentions of sui/ideation/self harm, pills**

* * *

 

“Come on, Bakura.”

Bakura grunted and rolled over in his bed, still scrolling through Instagram. He wasn’t sure why he had let Malik convince him to get it, but he liked the memes that always came up in his recommended section. Plus Malik occasionally posted some gorgeous selfies. He liked the one that he passed; one of him with the fairylights in his hotel room, hair a touch messy, kohl on point. 

Ryou huffed and tried to pull the blanket away. “Malik’s going to be here soon - you need to get ready.”

Bakura shook his head. “I don’t want to,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to get out of bed. He couldn’t move. He flicked down past a photo of Yugi kissing Atem’s cheek, then flicked up and reported it as spam.

“Don’t do that,” Ryou sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. “His followers will just get mad that a homophobic asshole did it.”

“I’m gay as shit.”

“So you’re going to tell them that you reported it because…?” Ryou shook his head, and Bakura didn’t bother to respond. Ryou sighed. “You need to shower, Bakura. You haven’t gotten out of bed since Monday.”

It was only two days, but it was apparently long enough to make Ryou worry. “I’ve been in bed longer before.”

“Not since spring.” Since Malik got to Japan. Ryou crossed his legs, his right ankle resting on his left knee. “What’s going on?”

Bakura’s throat felt tight, like something was trying to push its way up, but he wasn’t fucking going to cry. “I don’t know,” he muttered, not looking away from a photo of Tristan’s dog. “I’m just tired.”

Ryou shook his head. “Come on. Shower at least and see how you feel. I can make you some food - what about pizza? We have some from last night.” Bakura hummed. “Okay, fine. I’ll just tell Malik not to come over.”

“No, don’t do that.” He meant to sound a bit more forceful, but there was nothing in his voice. “Let him come over.”

“But what are you going to do?”

“I’ll go to the zoo with him when he comes.”

“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.” Ryou sighed and leaned on his leg. “You need to get ready.”

Bakura kept staring at the photo of the dog. He couldn’t look away. “I can’t.”

Ryou reached over and took Bakura’s phone from him. Bakura twisted to get it back, and Ryou yanked the duvet off him. “Get ready, and you can get it back.”

Bakura forced himself up, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. “You really need to stop doing that. I might not have been wearing boxers.”

“Please, it’s not like I’ve never seen your dick before.” Ryou rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. “Take a shower, get dressed, and I’ll make food for you, okay?”

Bakura nodded and dragged himself out of the bed. His head span and he noticed the untouched bowl of cold soup that Ryou had left on his dresser yesterday. When did he last eat?

The water heater hummed, and Ryou called into him, “The water’s on! Hurry up!”

He grabbed a pair of boxers and socks off the floor, followed by jeans and his red hoodie. T-shirt. He needed a t-shirt. Fuck, they all looked bad. He snatched a black shirt with a white snake from his wardrobe and made his way into the bathroom.

Steam was already filling it, and he kicked off his boxers once he locked the door. He climbed under the shower water without testing it. Ryou had already adjusted it - it was a little above tepid. He wasn’t bothered to fix it. Maybe it would get him out soon.

He lathered shampoo into his hair - washed - soap - washed - stood vacant under the water for a minute or two before managing to turn off the water. He was still towelling his hair dry when Ryou knocked on the door.

“Pizza’s ready.”

Bakura grunted and towelled faster, harder. He yanked on his clothes and padded out to the kitchen, still buttoning his jeans. A plate with two slices of clearly-reheated pepperoni pizza sat on the table, alongside a pint glass of water. “Thanks,” he mumbled, dropping into a seat. His body didn’t feel any more awake than earlier. He grabbed a slice and took a bite. The base was too doughy - just as Ryou liked it - and his teeth sank into it like it was a piece of cake.

“No problem.” Ryou sat across from him with a sinfully sweet cup of coffee. “Did something happen?” He asked once Bakura had finished the first slice. Bakura shook his head. “Then why-?”

“I don’t know.” The next bite was vicious, tearing at the pizza. A drop of sauce landed on Bakura’s glasses, and he didn’t bother taking them off to clean them. They were clean enough from the shower. “I’m just _tired_.”

“You didn’t do anything yesterday.”

“Yeah, but-” Bakura scowled. “I don’t know, okay? I just- maybe-”

“Maybe it’s the depression?” Ryou raised an eyebrow. Bakura didn’t meet his gaze. “Bakura, I’m a bisexual trans man in Japan. I know a thing or two about depression and anxiety, even if it isn’t to the same degree.”

“It’s not the same.” Bakura shook his head. “I know what your stuff is like. I felt it in your body. But- but I couldn’t feel any of my stuff under Zorc, so I know it’s different and I know it’s been years but I don’t know how to _deal_ with it.”

Ryou closed his eyes. “Take your fucking meds,” he muttered. “If you take them, it might help.”

“They’ll change me.” Bakura finished his pizza. “I don’t want that.”

“Are you saying mine changed me for the worse?” Ryou’s head snapped up and he glared at him. It almost reminded Bakura of himself. “Because I took antidepressants after I came out.”

“You’re different.”

“How?”

“You know why you have your depression!” Bakura gripped the edge of the table with one hand. He could feel his nails sinking into the wood- it was weak, but that didn’t help. “Your dad was an abusive prick-”

“This isn’t about my father.”

“Don’t start that shit with me.” Bakura returned the glare. “He’s _literally_ why you have so many fucking issues.”

“This isn’t about _me_! This is about why you won’t take your meds!” Ryou insisted. “Is what mine did bad? Giving me energy, allowing me to actually get up in the morning, easing the suicidal ideation- is that bad?” Bakura hesitated. “Because if I hadn’t started on them, I don’t know that I’d still be here.” Ryou took a slow breath. “You’ve been getting worse over the years, Bakura. I just- I don’t want to lose you again.”

Bakura looked away and ran his tongue over his lips. The bottom one still tasted like tomato sauce. “You won’t,” he mumbled. “I’m doing better.” Ryou closed his eyes again, and neither spoke until the doorbell rang. “I should go.”

“Yeah,” Ryou whispered, “you should.”

Bakura stood up from the table and pulled on his boots at the door before opening it. Malik smiled at him, but it faded a little when he saw Bakura’s expression. “You okay?”

Bakura glanced at Ryou. The other was staring out the window, only the back of his head visible. “Yeah.” Bakura pulled the door closed behind him. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The zoo was crowded, more so than Malik had expected. A child screamed just below his ear at the sight of an ice cream stand, and he had to focus for a moment. His name was Malik Ishtar. He was in Domino Zoo with his boyfriend. His boyfriend was dragging him towards the African exhibit- wait.

“Why are we going here?” Malik raised an eyebrow as Bakura led him under the crappy rock and palm tree archway that marked the entrance to the ‘safari section’. “All the kids will want to see the lions.”

“Yeah.” Bakura grinned. “But we can get to the Arctic and bird sections through here and no one will be there.”

Malik felt a little tension in his shoulders ease and he returned the grin. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough,” Bakura decided and squeezed Malik’s hand.

Sure enough, a group of children crowded around the lions’ area, and the tigers’, and the wolves’. They didn’t stop moving until they reached the polar bears, and Malik froze, eyes wide. He hadn’t seen many animals outside of Asia and Africa before and had never indulged in a zoo.

The exhibit was mostly underground, so they could see the polar bears diving underwater, twisting and kicking back up to the surface once they were done. Malik pressed his face up to the glass as one of the smallest swam right past him, eyes bright.

To his credit, Bakura didn’t pull him away, though he didn’t look all that interested in the polar bears. Or the seals. Or the penguins. But he waited with Malik at every one, watching them with his boyfriend, and every time, Malik rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek. Fuck anyone who had an issue with it.

“Do you want to go to the reptile house?” Malik offered, once he managed to peel himself away from the penguin feeding.

Bakura grinned, but it looked half-hearted and injected something cold into Malik’s veins. “Sure.”

Malik caught his hand before he could move. “What’s wrong?”

Bakura sighed and shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t want to ruin the mood.” His forced grin grew. “We’re meant to be on a date.”

“We can still talk about what’s bothering you.” Malik frowned. Bakura wouldn’t look at him. Why wouldn’t he just look up? His hand trembled in Malik’s. “Okay,” Malik murmured, “we don’t have to talk about it.” Bakura’s eyes flickered. “But if you want to, we can.”

Bakura cleared his throat and grinned. “Thanks.” It was a little less forced this time, but it still looked so tired, like he was struggling to keep the corners of his mouth from drooping in sheer exhaustion. “So the reptiles?”

Malik nodded and led Bakura through the small crowd to the reptile room. Two snakes twisted up alongside the door, trying to create an aesthetic archway, but it looked childish. Then again, the zoo’s main market was children. Inside, Bakura managed to perk up a little bit, wandering from the case to case. The smell didn’t even seem to bother him. Malik hated it. But it was nice to see Bakura smiling.

Especially when he saw the snake. Malik chuckled as Bakura dashed over to the case and pressed his forehead to the glass. “I thought you said zoos were cheesy and I was the only reason we were going?” He teased, wandering over to him. He leaned on the railing with folded arms.

Bakura hardly glanced at him. “It’s a _snake_.” As if that explained everything. It sort of did, actually, Malik noted, looking at Bakura’s shirt. Maybe he’d like a snake. Ryou wouldn’t mind - it would probably fit in with his horror aesthetic. Then again, the smell.

Malik wrinkled his nose. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad if there was only one of them? He’d look into it a little bit more. Maybe he could convince Bakura to celebrate the commercialised Christmas, where they just got each other presents, got drunk, and went out. That might be nice.

He rested his head against the glass, watching Bakura more than the snake. His eyes were entirely fixed on - Malik glanced at the name on the sign - Umi. Malik only saw him blink once or twice, though the snake didn’t seem to do anything other than slither from one rock to the next and fall asleep. Or maybe it wasn’t asleep. Malik honestly had no idea.

Eventually, Bakura pulled back. “Gods, she’s gorgeous,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “She deserves better than to be in here.”

Malik glanced at Umi. “I would offer to help you get her out, but I don’t think she’d fare very well in the city.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bakura sighed, shaking his head. “Still a waste.”

Malik took Bakura’s hand and squeezed it again. “Do you want to go and get some food?”

“Sure.” Bakura nodded. “Bubble tea?”

Malik snorted and shook his head. “You’re obsessed with that stuff.”

“I know.” Bakura grinned. “But I’m also obsessed with you and that’s not a bad thing.”

Malik’s face heated up and he leaned down to peck Bakura’s cheek. “Okay, that was smooth, but you still need some real food too. You’re as bad as Ryou.”

“I am not!” Bakura protested as they made their way out of the reptile house. “Ryou’s literally had to get four fillings because he won’t fucking eat properly.” Malik raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe it was two, but still. I’ve had none.”

“That’s because you haven’t been to a dentist yet.” Malik rolled to eyes. He didn’t think Bakura really needed fillings, but it was fun to tease him.

Just at the exit, Malik paused. A small farm-looking building sat just beside it, with a sloppily written sign reading **petting zoo**. Bakura followed his gaze and grinned. “You want to pet the animals?”

“I want to pet the animals,” Malik confirmed, pulling Bakura towards the house. Inside it smelled almost as bad as the reptile house, but a lamb pressed against the wooden barrier and bleated when Malik brushed his fingers over its wool.

“Mal,” Bakura called. “They have ducks.” Malik twisted to see Bakura leaning over a more enclosed part. When he wandered over, a row of fluffy yellow ducklings were following each other around the pen, squeaking whenever they bumped into one of their siblings - which happened every few seconds.

Malik couldn’t help but smile. In the next pen was a baby pig, which he wasn’t all that keen on touching, but then there were kittens. He didn’t know why no one else was inside, fawning over the baby cats, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because it meant there were more for him to pay attention to.

Bakura vanished for a second, and then returned with a bowl of what looked like cat food, but with the amount of animals in there, Malik couldn’t be certain. “Come on.” Bakura stepped over the barrier and into the pen.

Malik checked the sign to make sure they were able to, and then checked it again.

Bakura caught his hand. “It’s not the tomb.”

He knew that. Of course he knew that. But he still couldn’t stop himself from remembering trying to sneak a pet of the tomb’s cat - it had been kept to keep the mouse count down, but none of them were allowed to touch it. Every time he tried, Rishid seemed to appear to stop him. He took a breath and followed Bakura over the barrier.

The kittens mewled as Bakura bent down with a small fistful of food for them. He held it in his palm, and the orange tabby padded closer to nibble it. Malik squeaked as something brushed against his ankles and he looked down to see their mother circling him.

Bakura looked up and smiled. “She likes you.”

Malik’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

Bakura left the food on the floor for the cats and wrapped his arms around Malik. “Yeah.” For a moment they just stood there, and then Bakura dragged him down.

“Bakura!” Malik shrieked, but he was laughing as he landed in Bakura’s lap. “I swear to gods, if you get this skirt dirty-”

“It’s fine - the only thing getting dirty is my jeans.” Bakura grinned. “You have a perfectly clean cushion.” The mother cat had darted away when Malik shrieked, but the kittens began to worm closer to them, looking for more food. Bakura picked up the black one and dumped it in Malik’s lap. “Pet it.”

Malik hesitated. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Of course.” Bakura reached out and tickled another kitten under the chin. It began purring instantly. “See? They like it.”

Malik swallowed and nodded. He reached out his hand and carefully stroked his thumb over the top of the black kitten’s head. It butted up against his hand, eyes slipping closed. Malik smiled and repeated the action a few times, settling back against Bakura’s chest. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Bakura nuzzled into the side of Malik’s neck. “I don’t know why you’re thanking me. This was your idea.”

“Not for this.” Malik picked up a second kitten that was clinging to his skirt, trying to climb up to join its sibling. “Just… thank you.” He didn’t know what he was thanking him for. Everything, maybe.

Bakura hummed and kissed the side of Malik’s shoulder. “You’re welcome - for whatever it is.” He smiled. “Want to get some lunch in the zoo so you can come back here?”

Malik glanced at him and returned the smile. After a moment, he set the kittens down. “No, let’s go get you some bubble tea. You deserve it.”

“Are you sure?” Bakura asked as they stood up. “I don’t mind.” Malik shook his head and led Bakura out of the building, though he kept glancing back at the kittens until the door closed. At the exit, Bakura tried again. “Last chance.”

“No, I’m okay.” Malik smiled. “Besides, I have my own kitten right here.” He ruffled Bakura’s hair.

Bakura scowled. “Okay, you know what? Just for that, you’re paying for the bubble tea.”

“You mean like I always do?"

* * *

Bakura looked up from the drawing tablet in his lap as the apartment door opened. Ryou walked in wearing yesterday’s clothes, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Well?”

Ryou jumped and looked over at Bakura. “Jesus fuck. What are you doing on the couch?”

“I wanted to get up.” Bakura shrugged. He wasn’t sure if it counted as getting up, considering he was lying down under a blanket in his pyjama bottoms, but he wasn’t in bed. “What happened?”

Ryou hung his coat up. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He was smiling.

“Bullshit - that’s the fourth time you’ve stayed over at Seto’s house. Tell me everything.” Bakura set his drawing tablet aside and shifted up a little in the makeshift bed.

Ryou sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the couch so he wouldn’t crush Bakura’s toes. “Okay, so we went out to dinner and split the bill-”

“They have enough money to pay the whole thing.”

“I know they do, but that’s not the kind of relationship I want to have.” Ryou frowned. “Now shush, unless you want me to stop.” Bakura shrugged and leaned further against the back of the couch. “We went out to dinner and split the bill, and then we went to the cinema and I convinced them that they needed to try popcorn for once, and we shared a tub, and then we went back to their house and played video games and they kissed me.”

Bakura threw one fist into the air and whooped.

Ryou’s cheeks brightened. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Bitch, you haven’t kissed someone in over a year and a half; it’s a big fucking deal.” Bakura was grinning. “I’m proud of you.”

Ryou buried his face in his hands. “I don’t even know if we’re dating or what. Like… they just kind of kissed me and things went on from there and-”

“Wait.” Bakura put a hand on Ryou’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Did you-”

“For fuck sake, Bakura, no. I didn’t fuck them.”

“Damn. You should have.” Bakura flopped back into the cushions. “Okay, so things went on from there and…?”

“And…” Ryou shrugged. “We slept.”

“Bed or couch?”

“Shared the bed.”

“Cuddling?”

“Yeah.”

Bakura nodded and began drawing again. “You’re dating. You’re so dating.”

“I don’t know that we are!” Ryou groaned and buried his face in his hands. He fell back against the couch cushions and turned his head to look at Bakura. “Help. Please.”

Bakura chuckled. “How do you want me to help?”

“Murder me.”

“No.”

“Rude.”

“I know, I’m horrible for not killing you.” Bakura rolled his eyes and zoomed in so he could touch up his background a little. “You could just ask them about it.”

“How am I meant to ask them?”

“I don’t know.” Bakura shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “Maybe say, ‘Hey, Seto - I really like you. Are we dating?’ Or some shit like that.”

Ryou grumbled wordlessly under his breath and stood up. “I’m going to make some dinner. Do you want anything?”

“I’m good.” Bakura zoomed out to examine the drawing. It was a photo he had taken of Malik lying on the grass one of the days, hair splayed out around his head like a halo. A small patch of flowers sat off to his side, and the sun was setting. He was laughing.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“Of course I have.”

“What?” Ryou folded his arms.

Bakura paused. He had to actually think for a minute. “I had some cereal.”

“What type, how much, and when?”

Bakura scowled up at him. “I’m not a fucking child, Ryou.”

“I know, I just-” Ryou sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m just worried about you, Bakura. You don’t seem well.”

“I’m fine.” Bakura began searching through the colour wheel for the perfect colour for Malik’s skin. A golden brown. “I’m just tired, okay? I’ve been socialising too much recently.”

Ryou sighed again. “If you say so.”

Bakura glared at his drawing pad. Of course he said so. He had literally _just_ said it. His jaw clenched as Ryou padded off to the kitchen. The kettle began to boil. Why the fuck wouldn’t he be okay? He had Malik, he had a job, he was trying to work things out in therapy, and he was able to take time for himself. It was perfect.

It. Was. Perfect. It was.

He swiped at his eyes. Why the fuck were they wet? He lowered his head as Ryou came back into the room with two cups of something that steamed.

He set one cup on the table beside Bakura and sat down again. “Eat it. It’s chicken soup.”

“I’m not hungry, Ryou.” Bakura selected the brown colour he’d use for most of Malik’s skin and began to colour his drawing in.

“Cereal isn’t enough for a full day.” Ryou nudged Bakura’s foot with his knee. “Come on. Eat it, and we can watch a film while you draw.”

Bakura’s pen hovered over the screen. He glanced up. He could smell the soup from there - warm and salty. “Your choice or mine?”

“Yours.”

His stomach rumbled. “Deal.” He put his drawing tablet on the floor and picked up the mug. It was a chicken and noodle soup, and Ryou had added a few spices from the look of the broth.

Ryou passed him a spoon and turned on the TV. He flicked over to the apple box and clicked into his Netflix account. Well, not his. His father’s Count Olaf icon smirked out at them from the screen. It was far too apt. “What do you want to watch?”

Bakura took a sip of his soup and winced. Too hot. “Something gay.”

Ryou hummed. “Do you really? You know the queer selection on Netflix here is shit.”

“Fair point.” Bakura groaned and leaned his head back. They had watched all the good ones. “Put on _Birdbox_.”

Ryou’s eyes lit up, but he paused. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Fuck it. Horror wasn’t his favourite, but Ryou deserved it. “I want to see the memes and understand what’s happening.” He drank another mouthful of soup, and this time it was a little easier for him to bare.

“Okay.” Ryou clicked into the film and settled back into the couch with his own cup.

A minute or two in, Bakura poked Ryou’s leg with his toe. “Thanks for the food.”

“No problem.” Ryou nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Bakura sighed. “And I know you’re worried about me and everything.” Ryou paused and glanced at him. “But I’m fine. Just a little sick and tired. Okay?”

Ryou sighed and looked back at the screen. “If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two left - tbh the next chapter isn't written yet but it'll probably just be magical PWP and a possible Ryou and Seto scene (let me know if you want one). Please review and I'll see you then!


	14. Chapter 14 | Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seto: Are you taken?  
> Ryou: Yeah, for granted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup guys, sorry this is late. I just finished writing it lol. This is more of a feelgood chapter and it's just smut and Euroshipping lmao. Anyway, hope you like this.

**CW: Sex, mentions of Ryou's dad, mentions of familial transphobia, mentions of sterilisation, mentions of scarring**

* * *

 

Malik rubbed the back of his neck as he unlocked open the door to his apartment. He had found one a bit bigger than Ryou’s in a good area and got a job as a translator for a publishing company due to his fluency in numerous languages. It paid well, but it was long and tiring.

And his apartment was very empty when he got home.

Empty living room, empty kitchen, empty bedroom. Empty.

He sighed and dropped his briefcase onto the grey fold-out couch. He needed to release energy but he was too fucking tired to do _anything_. Between work and therapy, he never wanted to do much when he got home. He pulled out his phone and fiddled with it for a moment. He sighed and pulled up his messages with Bakura.

**You free for a bit?**

The reply was almost instantaneous. **Yeah, why?**

**Come over. I want to watch more of _The Good Place_.**

**On my way, don** **’t start without me.**

**Then hurry up.**

**Bitch I will cut you.**

Malik snorted. **No you won** **’t.**

Bakura practically lived with him, but some days he liked to just go back to Ryou’s. It gave them both some necessary space and it helped Ryou make ends meet with rent. He pulled his tie loose and kicked his pants off. He was still too scared to wear skirts to work. Being a foreigner already brought enough discrimination.

By the time Bakura arrived with a bag of popcorn and vegan jellies, Malik had changed into one of his more comfortable t-shirts and a fresh pair of boxers, and _The Good Place_ was ready to play on his computer.

“That’s mine.” Bakura poked at his side.

Malik glanced at the shirt. It had a Mimikyu on it. “I was wondering why I had such a nerdy shirt.” He smirked and pulled Bakura onto the couch beside him. “But it’s mine now.”

“It doesn’t even fit you.” Bakura kicked off his shoes and Malik curled into him.

“Yeah, well if it’s big on me, it’s a fucking dress on you.”

“Touché.” Bakura ran his fingers through Malik’s hair. “Rough day?”

“It was fine.” Malik pressed play and sighed. “I just need a break.”

Bakura nodded and kissed the top of Malik’s head. They watched it with the brightness turned down a touch for Bakura’s sake, but with all of the fairylights Malik had strung up on the roof turned on.

Three episodes into their marathon, Malik’s phone rang. He only glanced at the screen and then turned it off. Ishizu. Bakura only watched. “I’ll talk to her eventually,” Malik said.

“I’m not judging.” Bakura shrugged. “It’s up to you if you never want to even see her again.”

Malik shook his head. “I do,” he mumbled. “I do, I just…” He heaved another sigh. “Not yet.” His phone rang again, and this time he declined the call with a text. **Working late, I** **’ll call when I’m free.**

He turned his phone off and threw it onto the table beside his computer. The end credits rolled onto the screen, and no next episode button came up. They had finished the season.

Even after the credits ended, neither of them moved to click into the first episode of season three. Bakura ran his fingers along Malik’s shoulders. “You know you can talk to me about these things, right?” He said. “You don’t need to bottle them up.”

Malik shifted up so he was a bit closer to sitting up. “I know.” He gave Bakura a small smile. “It’s just hard sometimes.”

“I know,” Bakura echoed, “but we’re both fucked up, so maybe it’s a bit easier if we talk to each other.”

Malik hummed in agreement and pressed a kiss to Bakura’s lips. “Thanks.” Bakura leaned in and caught his lips again before he could fully pull away.

Malik pushed himself up a bit more so he was able to return the kisses, and Bakura climbed into his lap. Bakura’s tongue was hot and real in his mouth, and he moaned with Malik rolled his hips up.

Malik caught Bakura’s lower lip between his teeth and pulled back. Bakura’s breath caught. “Want to go to bed?”

“Are you up for it?” Bakura’s voice was breathy.

Malik nodded. The exhaustion was very quickly fading, leaving just a need to release energy. Bakura climbed off his lap and Malik led him to the bedroom, both discarding clothes on the way.

Bakura grabbed the half-empty bottle of lube from Malik’s dresser, and then Malik caught his wrist. A smirk graced his lips. “I want to try something new.”

Bakura grinned and raised his eyebrows. “What, you bought sex toys?”

“Not quite.” Malik wrapped his arms around Bakura’s waist, pulling him closer. “A spell.”

Bakura frowned. “What kind?”

“A sex one.” Malik brushed his lips against Bakura’s. “Ishizu got a crate in and Rishid sent me a few books to look over. One of them was very interesting.”

Bakura’s eyes widened. “You bitch. You’ve had a book of sex spells this entire time and you didn’t tell me?”

“We can go through it later if you want,” Malik snorted, “but I wanted to surprise you.” He grazed Bakura’s lower lip with his teeth. “Are you up for it?”

Bakura’s eyelids drooped a touch, eyes growing hazy. “I am if you are.”

Malik grinned and pushed Bakura down onto the bed. There was a lot he wanted to try. Orgasm denial, bondage, mindreading, shapeshifting, but he was in the mood for something a touch more… personal.

He murmured the words of the spell under his breath, ka running from his body through his fingertips. He graced them over Bakura’s chest and face, and Bakura gasped.

Malik sealed the spell with a kiss. Even though it didn’t do anything to help it, it was nice.

Bakura was breathing heavily when they pulled apart, but he didn’t need his inhaler. Malik could feel it in his lungs. “What did you just do?”

Malik smiled and cupped Bakura’s face. “It’s a binding spell,” he murmured. “Not a particularly powerful one without ingredients, but it's enough.” He rolled his hips against Bakura’s and heat that wasn’t his own pooled in his stomach. “How do you feel?”

“Fuck!” Bakura clamped his eyes shut as he hitched his hips up. “Oh, fuck!”

Malik grabbed his hand - the one with the lube in it - and Bakura blinked up at him. “Want to get me started?”

For a second, Bakura looked confused. Then his jaw dropped and he nodded. “Uh, yeah, I- is that okay?”

He knew it was. Malik knew it he knew it. But he brushed Bakura’s hair away from his face and kissed him again. “Why should I always be the one doing all the work?” He teased.

Bakura’s hesitance vanished and he scoffed, but still dumped a generous amount of lube over his fingers. Malik straddled his lap and kissed Bakura’s neck as Bakura traced around his asshole with one finger.

He eased one finger into him and Malik hummed, nipping his throat. Bakura moaned and tilted his head back to give him more room. Malik couldn’t feel the bites himself, but he could feel the pleasure Bakura got from them, and he bit again, harder. The pleasure spiked and Malik rolled his hips down.

Bakura mumbled a curse under his breath and added a second finger.

Malik smirked and ran his hands through Bakura’s hair. “Are you just feeling the pleasure of it?” He asked. “Or does it feel like I’m finger fucking you?”

“Mm.” Bakura hooked his fingers up and Malik squirmed. “Yes.”

“Which one?”

“ _Yes_.”

Malik shook his head. “You’re- ah! Impossible,” he decided.

“Of course I am.” Bakura’s smirk was a lot less sardonic than usual. He massaged tiny circles into Malik’s prostate.

Malik’s own smug expression crumpled and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Oh, holy fuck, yes…”

“Good?” Bakura purred. He added a third finger and Malik gasped.

“You know it is, you asshole.” Even his insults didn’t have the bite they usually did. He wrapped his arms around Bakura’s neck and kissed him.

Bakura returned it and only pulled away when he finished prepping Malik. By that stage, Malik’s hair was a mess, his kohl was smudged, and his cock was aching.

“How should we do this?” Malik asked.

Bakura hummed and grabbed the lube. “Ride me,” he said. “It’ll keep your back safe.”

Malik hummed in agreement and stole the lube from Bakura. He poured some into his hand, and then wrapped it around Bakura’s dick. They both moaned, Bakura’s head falling forward onto Malik’s shoulder.

“Gods-”

“I’m the only god in here.” Malik spread the lube over Bakura’s cock and then shifted a little so the tip brushed just against his ass. “Ready?” Bakura nodded, breathless.

Malik took a slow breath and eased down onto Bakura’s cock. They both moaned, loudly. Bakura’s pleasure doubled over on top of his own, and his legs shook by the time he was seated in Bakura’s lap again.

Bakura crossed his legs beneath Malik and traced circles over the skin on his thighs. “You okay?” His voice was a touch strained.

Malik wrapped his legs around Bakura’s waist, arms around his neck. “I’m perfect.” He pressed their lips together as he began to roll his hips.

Bakura moaned into his mouth and began to thrust up into Malik, though he let Malik set the rhythm. Malik relaxed into it, and Bakura shifted under him until Malik suddenly fell back from the kiss with a short shout. “Bakura!”

Bakura held him closer and thrust up again. “Fuck, Malik!” He pressed his forehead to his partner’s. “Gods, this feels amazing…”

Malik laughed, breathless, but moaned again as Bakura hit his prostate. “Oh gods, Bakura…” He dug his nails into Bakura’s shoulder and bit his neck.

Bakura arched up, chest pressing against Malik’s. He was wheezing a little, and Malik could feel it in his own lungs, but Bakura might have killed him if he stopped to force him to use his inhaler.

They didn’t last long. They couldn’t, with the spell. The combination of both of their pleasure was too much, and too soon, Malik was screaming Bakura’s name and slamming himself down on his cock. Bakura fumbled for Malik’s dick and stroked it in time with his thrusts, and Malik came over their stomachs before crashing into Bakura’s arms.

Bakura was panting for breath, still hard, but he held Malik closer and helped him ride out his orgasm. Once he was able to breathe again, Malik sat back up and began to roll his hips, clenching his ass. Bakura groaned and clutched his hips.

Malik reached out and cupped Bakura’s face, drawing him closer. “I love you,” he murmured. His voice was syrupy and a content smile was on his face, even as Bakura cursed and moaned his name. “Gods, I love you.”

“I-I-I- Malik!”

Malik hummed and kissed Bakura as he came. With Bakura so desperate for release, the kiss started out rough, but after he came, it softened. One kiss became several until Malik slipped off Bakura’s lap to take a shower.

Once they had both cleaned off and climbed into the bed, Malik lay on Bakura’s chest. The spell had mostly worn off, but the remnants of it were still coursing through their bodies, and he could feel Bakura’s heart beat alongside his own.

Bakura traced idle patterns on his shoulders. “Feeling better?”

Malik chuckled and kissed Bakura’s chest. “Much.” He smiled and let his eyes slide closed. “Thank you.”

Bakura shook his head and squeezed him. “I feel like I should be thanking you. That was _hot_.”

Malik snorted and looked up at him. “You’re terrible.”

“Not at sex, apparently. I fucked you well enough to calm you down.” Bakura winked.

“Oh shut up.” Malik swatted at him. “You know what I meant.”

Bakura chuckled and it vibrated in his chest, but he fell into silence. White noise suddenly seemed much louder than before, and Malik slid one foot out of the bed because he was overheating.

Finally, Bakura squeezed him again. “I love you too.”

“Bit late,” Malik chuckled but Bakura turned his head to face him.

“No, Malik.” He looked oddly aware, considering it was well after midnight and they had just fucked. “I love you.”

Malik’s breath caught in his throat. “Bakura!” He jolted up and threw his arms around Bakura, who fell to the side with a quiet grunt.

“What was that for?” Bakura grumbled, though his cheeks were dusted a darker brown than usual. “It’s not like I’ve never said it before.”

“But not like that!” Malik laughed and pressed their lips together. His smile eased a touch from over excited to soft and happy somewhere between the first and sixth kiss. “I love you too.”

Bakura’s lip twitched as if he was fighting a smile, and he righted them in the bed so they were able to lie on the pillows again. “Whatever. Let’s just get some sleep.” But he couldn’t hide the crinkles by his eyes, and when Malik snuck a peek after they had both settled down to sleep and closed their eyes, Bakura was smiling too.

* * *

Ryou winced as his phone rang and he turned it on vibrate - just in case Malik or Bakura rang with an emergency. “Sorry.” He pocketed it again and looked back up at Seto. They had asked him out for a third and fourth and fifth date, and now Ryou was in his still-new suit for the seventh time at a nice restaurant. Seto had insisted that they would pay for the entire meal this time, and Ryou had agreed on the condition that he pay for whatever they did next.

The restaurant was cream-walled with two floors and walls made of glass. A large potted plant sat behind Seto, and the tablecloth was white and made of good cloth. A candle sat at each table, and the lighting was dim. A low hum of chatter filled the room.

Seto raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to take that?”

“It’s not important.” Ryou shook his head. He had seen the caller ID, and even if he hadn’t, only one person called him so late at night. “What were you saying about the development of the virtual _Monster World_ game?”

Seto paused and set down their fork. Ryou focused his gaze on it instead of on Seto - the way it shone under the candlelight, how it was perfectly in line with Seto’s other two forks, how their plate almost looked like it had been just washed.

“Ryou?”

Ryou hummed but didn’t look up at them.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Ryou shook his head. “Not right now.” He didn’t want to ruin the mood, and it would. It always did.

Seto let out a slow breath and nodded. “Alright.” They picked up their fork again. “What do you want to do after this?”

Ryou chewed his lip. “The arcade will still be open,” he replied. He had already finished his main course, so he took a sip of water. “We could go there and relax a little.”

Seto looked amused now as they raised their eyebrows again. “You know I have more than that at Kaibaland, right?” They asked. “We could go there.”

Ryou shook his head. “No. You need to have the proper arcade experience, and you don’t get that from your own theme park.”

Seto hummed and finished their food. They wiped the corner of their mouth with a napkin. “Alright,” they agreed, “but consider this. In Kaibaland, we’d be entirely alone and I have good special effects.”

Ryou frowned at them. “Are you trying to tempt me with making out in a horror simulation?”

Seto smirked and shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Well it’s working.” Ryou folded his arms. “But not today. Today, you’re going to a regular arcade with me and we’re going to try and beat your brother’s high scores on every game we’re interested in. Deal?”

Seto chuckled and took a sip of wine. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“It is.” Ryou smiled at them but his chest still felt too tight in a way that had nothing to do with his binder. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he did his best to ignore it.

Seto must have seen something on his face, because they leaned forward on the table. “What’s going on?” Ryou opened his mouth to say that it was nothing, but Seto cut him off. “I know that we had issues in the past, but I do like you, Ryou. And I’m hoping you feel the same about me.”

Ryou’s cheeks flushed. “Of course I do.” He wouldn’t have bothered with a first date if he didn’t like them.

Seto nodded. “Then you should know that you can talk to me about these things,” they said. “Of course, if you really don’t want to-”

Ryou shook his head and Seto fell silent. He looked down at his plate until the trace remains of sauce blurred. “It’s my dad,” Ryou said after a minute. The sounds of people talking and eating seemed so much louder. “He wasn’t exactly the most… supportive of my transition.” He swallowed. “So when he found out that I’d legally changed my name and the whole sterilisation process that goes with that, he cut me off financially and said that if I wanted to do this, it was on my own money and time. So I’ve cut him off entirely. He doesn't... know about us or even that I'm living with Bakura or that I got my masters.” Ryou smiled at Seto, but it was bitter. “But he likes to try to ring me every once in a while to make sure I’m not dead, and I like to ignore him to keep him guessing.”

Seto let out a slow breath through their nose and nodded. “If you need anything-”

“I’m fine,” Ryou assured them. “Really. Between myself and Bakura, we have plenty for rent and bills.”

Seto nodded again. “Alright, but if you need anything, let me know.”

Ryou couldn’t help but smile. “I will. Thank you.”

Seto gave him the tiniest smile in return and it made Ryou’s heart swell. Those were usually reserved for when they were alone, so it was nice to get a surprise smile. Ryou finished his drink as Seto told him more about the virtual _Monster World_ game, Seto paid for their meals, and they left the restaurant to walk to the arcade. Ryou insisted they walk even though Seto wanted to take the limo.

It turned out that Seto didn’t have Mokuba’s skill for most arcade games. Seto was able to pick out patterns in older games and beat Ryou in those with ease, but they lost _so_ badly in anything that involved shooting or any type of RNG.

“I don’t know how you beat the Pharaoh,” Ryou laughed as he put the gun back into the machine. He had gotten to level twenty-two, and Seto had died at thirteen. It was one of their better levels. “Drawing is entirely luck based and you’re very unlucky.”

“The Pharaoh isn’t very good at games.” Seto shrugged. “It’s Yugi that I still want to beat.”

Ryou tilted his head. “That’s fair,” he admitted. “I haven’t played Atem since he came back.”

“Bad memories?”

“You could say that.” Ryou tugged the sleeve of his shirt a touch. The scar on his arm itched. “But I also just prefer _Monster World_ and chess, and they don’t.”

“We’ll need to have a game of chess soon then.” Seto smirked at him. “I haven’t lost a game in nearly twenty years.”

Ryou nodded in agreement. “We should do it next time. I haven’t lost in a while either.” He didn’t doubt that he would lose against Seto, but it would be nice to play a game with them that they were both passionate about.

When the arcade closed, Ryou managed to convince Seto that they should walk for a bit again - at least back to Ryou’s apartment. They didn’t protest all that much. The night was warm for near Christmas, and they were comfortable in their coats and suits even though their breaths fogged.

Seto looked up at the sky.

Ryou followed his gaze. “I miss the stars."

Seto glanced at him.

“When I was in England, I was out in the countryside, so I could always see the stars. They made me feel small, but in a good way. Like… the universe is so big that no matter how badly I fuck up, it’s not going to have that big of an impact on the universe.” Ryou shook his head. “Then we got deported and I haven’t been out of Domino in ages so I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Seto hummed. “I’ve lived in Domino most of my life so I only see them if I need to leave for business really.” Their hands were in their pockets. “But I saw them a lot when I was still living in Russia. They’re nice.” They looked over at Ryou.

He was still watching the sky, as though if he focused enough, the stars would pierce through the light pollution and smog and reach him. After a moment, he shook his head and looked down again. “Sorry.” His voice was a touch deeper than before.

Seto was silent for a minute. “Do you want to go to the planetarium next week?”

Ryou paused and looked up at them.

“It’s fine if you don’t. I know it’s not the same, but it’s better than never seeing them again.” Seto’s cheeks were a touch pink in the yellow light of the street lamps. “Besides, I could probably do with learning an appreciation for something outside of games.”

Ryou looked away. “You don’t need to do that.”

“You do enough things that I enjoy.” Seto was still watching him. “You can pick something else if you want.”

Ryou paused and let out a slow breath. Seto wasn’t his father or his exes. This wasn’t going to end badly. He looked up again. Seto’s hair was soft for once, hanging forward over their forehead and not held in place by a mountain of hairspray. A few stray hairs stuck up, illuminated by the light Seto was standing under. It looked like they were wearing a halo of some kind.

Ryou smiled. “I’d really like that,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Seto returned the smile and Ryou felt his heart flutter again. “Come on, you need to get home.” They hesitated. Not paused, but actually hesitated. “Unless you want to stay out at mine again.” Their arms seemed a touch tenser than before.

“Sure.”

Seto seemed to be chewing something. Their tongue, maybe. “And perhaps you’d like to sleep in the same bed as me this time?” They asked. “Nothing needs to happen."

Ryou blinked. Then relaxed. “That sounds nice.” He loved how awkward Seto was. They had always seemed so terrifying and cold when Ryou was younger, but now he could see that a lot of it had been genuine confusion at how to deal with people. "But I wouldn't mind something happening if you're up for it too."

Seto chuckled and shook their head. “Alright then. I’ll call my driver - we’re not walking two hours back to my house.”

Ryou snorted. “It might not be the best idea,” he agreed as Seto pulled out their phone. Just as they began to type in the number from memory, Ryou stood on his toes and kissed Seto’s cheek. He wasn’t meant to, he knew, in case anyone recognised Seto and took a photo of them together. It was for Ryou's sake. For his protection and privacy. But in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Seto faltered and they hit the wrong button. They quickly erased the number to start again and glanced at Ryou. Their cheeks were pink again. “What was that for?”

Ryou shook his head. “Everything.” He grinned. “And I like how you react.”

Seto leaned down. “You’re a hazard to society,” they murmured before pressing a quick kiss to Ryou’s lips. Ryou did his best to return it, but Seto pulled away too quickly to ring their driver.

There was a small smirk on their face. Bastard. They knew exactly what Ryou wanted.

After a few muttered orders, Seto hung up the phone and pocketed it. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Great.” Ryou slipped his hand into Seto’s pocket and intertwined their fingers. Seto edged a little closer to him. Ryou leaned his head against Seto’s arm and looked up at the sky again. “I can’t wait to see the stars.”

Seto squeezed his hand. "I'm glad I get to bring them back to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please review. I'll try to finish the next chapter in time.


	15. Chapter 15 | Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik: How do you usually get out of these messes?  
> Bakura: I don't. I make a bigger mess and hope it cancels out the first one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo sorry I'm posting this in class so gotta go fast. Hope you enjoy the final chapter, thanks for sticking with me this long! Got pride today in college so that should be fun. So should taking the test right after that I haven't studied for lmao. Wish me luck so I don't fuckin die.

**CW: Asthma attack, memory of Kul Elna, gore, switching/mixing, mentions of Malik's past, medication, mention of familial arguments**

* * *

Malik closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a slow breath, drew another in, and let that one out as well before he looked at the notebook again. Nasir had been out. He wasn’t entirely sure when. Maybe he’d had a nightmare. But his body ached with exhaustion, and the notebook Bakura had gotten him now had a letter in it in writing that wasn’t either of theirs.

 **Malik _,_** it read in a scrawling script. He just kept reading his name over and over again, and then flicking down to the neat signature. **Nasir**.

Bakura sat on the side of the armchair beside him, arm pressed up against his shoulder. “It’s important, love,” he said.

“To you?”

“To him.” He paused and considered the question. “And to me.”

Malik let out a shuddering sigh and looked at the paper again. It was only a page long. Bakura reached out and placed his hand over Malik’s. Malik looked up at him. It was odd to have to do, but the armchair was deep and comfy, so on the arm of it, Bakura’s head sat an inch or two above his own.

Bakura gave him a tiny smile. “You need to work with them on this. And this might help.”

“I know,” Malik said. He leaned his head against Bakura’s shoulder. “I know.” He took another breath and tried to read it again.

**Malik,**

**I don** **’t know why the fuck I’m doing this. You’re probably not even going to read it unless Bakura makes you. I don’t even know what to write. I guess I’m pissed at you but I’m also not because I get why I’m here better than I think you do.**

 **I guess I should tell you the other alters and stuff? So there** **’s me, Amir, Kek, and Namu. I don’t know if there’s any more. I know Namu was made to deal with Atem so that’s why you blacked out when you first got back but I don’t know what he is. Maybe the avenger. Kek’s the protector; he was made to deal with physical violence and the whole killing dad thing. He’s the asshole who made you say daddy in that meeting in case you still thought you were possessed. I don’t really know Amir. I think he was created to deal with your guilt or fear or something, but I never really talked to him, even when we had the Rod. I think he might be the caregiver or something like that.**

 **Oh yeah, the Rod helped us talk. I guess that** **’s useful information. Or not since they’re gone but whatever.**

 **I only know a few of my triggers but it** **’s anything that makes you remember the tombs a lot. I was fronting after pride because you had a nightmare about being forced back in there and then just stuff like that happens just before I take over. I think I’m the little which is bullshit because I’m nineteen but I guess that fits me most? So yeah. I don’t know what I’m doing. Fuck.**

 **Okay Bakura** **’s telling me to tell you a bit about myself so you’re less scared, which is bullshit because you’re not the one who should be scared here but whatever. I’m nineteen but I think I already said that. I like cartoons and video games a lot. Ryou’s my friend I think? I like dairy but Bakura won’t let me eat it because you don’t. He’s saying I shouldn’t have written that. I don’t like him all that much but I know you do. Tell him to stop treating me like you. I really don’t like that.**

 **Okay I** **’m going to go watch something because you’ll be out again soon and I don’t know what else to say. Just stop making me deal with your anger so much. It tastes terrible.**

**Nasir.**

Malik let the notebook fall into his lap and he leaned his head backwards. Bakura pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You okay?”

“No.” Malik shook his head and closed his eyes. “I didn’t- I don’t-” He took a slow breath. He was shaking. Bakura’s arms wrapped around him, and the tight hold helped to ground him a little.

“It’s okay,” Bakura said. “I didn’t let him do anything bad.”

“Except stay up all night when I need to work in an hour?” Malik tilted his head up.

Bakura grinned. “Figured it was better than murdering people.”

Malik shrugged. “I mean, if it helped him sleep-” He cut himself off and grinned.

Bakura snorted. “Are we at the stage we can joke about it? Because I’ve been wanting to for ages.”

“We may as well.” Malik pressed his face into Bakura’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with this.” It was all his fault. If he could just deal with things, then this wouldn’t be happening.

“It’s fine.” Bakura ran his fingers through Malik’s hair. “I promise.” He pressed his lips to the top of Malik’s head and stayed there.

Malik relaxed into his hold and did his best to steady his breathing a touch. Bakura smelled of a mix of fresh sweat and the _Black Ice_ Lynx deodorant he had stolen from Ryou. “You need a shower,” Malik muttered.

Bakura hummed and lifted his face. Malik regretted speaking when he did that. “You need one more. You still need to go to work.”

“Touché.” Malik closed his eyes. “Will you make me some coffee while I shower?”

“Make it youself,” Bakura huffed but he released Malik and stomped to the kitchen.

“Soy milk!” Malik reminded him as he made his way to the bathroom. Some days Bakura really would leave him to make it himself. Then there would be days where he would come out of the shower to coffee, two slices of toast with his almond spread, and sometimes quorn bacon. Malik had a feeling this was the latter of the two types of days.

As he turned on the shower, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Ishizu again. His finger hovered over the **end call** button for a second. He closed his eyes, answered the call, and brought the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Ishizu.”

 _“Malik,_ ” Ishizu breathed. She sounded relieved. _“I’ve been trying to call you.”_

“Sorry.” Malik pursed his lips. “I’ve been busy.”

_“I can tell.”_

Malik could hear something going on in the background. “Is everything alright?”

 _“Of course_ ,” Ishizu assured him. _“It’s just a busy day at the museum. We’re getting in another shipment.”_

“That’s good.” Malik glanced over at the shower. Steam was already filling the air. “How have you been?” Since Malik mixed with someone, yelled at her, and hung up.

“ _I_ _’ve been well.”_ Ishizu hesitated. “ _How about you?_ _”_

“Me too.” Malik nodded. “I’ve gotten a good job and an apartment. I’m… doing well.”

_“So I take it you won’t be coming back to Egypt?”_

Malik shook his head and leaned his forehead against the wall. “Ishizu…” He took a slow breath. It was a little hard with the steam. “I’m happy here. I’m in a good relationship and I’m not hiding part of myself, and I’m actually working to get better.” Ishizu was silent. “I know you wanted me to just… be better once we got out and I stopped using the Rod, but I couldn’t. I need to keep working on it. And I’m just-” A breathy laugh escaped Malik. “I’m so, _so_ much happier right now. I can’t remember a time that I was this good. And that’s nothing to do with living with you and Rishid, but-”

 _“I think I understand.”_ Malik heard a smile in her voice. _“That’s all I’ve wanted for you, Malik. For you to be happy.”_

It didn’t seem like that on the last phone call. Malik bit back the response. “I know.” She was just worried. It just mightn’t have shown in a good way.

_“We’d love if you came and visited us over the holidays. Or maybe we could come see you.”_

Malik smiled. “That sounds great.” He would need to convince Bakura to play nice for a week or so.

Something crashed on Ishizu’s line and she sighed. _“I need to go, but I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll handle the flights if we can work out a time we’re all off.”_

“Sounds great. Thanks, Ishizu.” Malik hesitated. “I love you.”

Ishizu didn’t. “ _Love you too._ _”_ Then she was gone.

Malik lowered his phone and did his best to quell the elation rising in his throat as he showered and dried off. He walked to the bedroom in a towel and pulled on a shirt, and then paused before he could put on his black pants. He looked at them for a minute, and then folded them and put them away.

When he walked out to the kitchen, his heels clicked on the floor and a black skirt swished around his knees.

A mug of coffee was sitting on the table with a plate of toast. His almond spread was in the tub beside the plate, and Bakura was toasting himself a waffle. Bakura glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened. “Everything okay?” He asked.

Malik leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Everything’s great, honey.” His hair was still damp and clung to the nape of his neck.

Bakura smiled and Malik sat down to eat. He still had a half hour to spare. When his waffle was done, Bakura grabbed it and sat in Malik’s lap to eat it without a plate. Malik just wrapped an arm around Bakura’s waist and finished his breakfast.

Neither of them moved for a few minutes, even after they had finished eating, but eventually, Malik sighed and rested his forehead between Bakura’s shoulder blades. “I need to go.” Bakura grunted. “That means you need to get off my lap.”

“I’m not moving.” Bakura glanced back at him and grinned. Malik frowned at him. “Bet you wish you’d killed me on the pier, huh?”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Kind of.”

* * *

The world was sand and stone, and Bakura ran through the streets barefoot in nothing but a shendyt. Someone was chasing him, and he laughed, weaving between other people in the village. All were clothed in cream or similarly light colours. Once he was out of sight, he ducked beneath a table and doubled back to his house.

His cousin was there, holding a vibrantly coloured fruit. She said something, but Bakura couldn’t understand her. He heard himself say something. He couldn’t even process what he himself said.

But he heard the screams.

Red melted the sunny village away and Diabound wrapped tight around Bakura, hiding him. His cousin still stood there and Bakura screamed at her to get out - to run.

She took a bite of the fruit. Thick juices dripped down her chin, light pink on almost black. A spear shot through her chest and she coughed. The juice turned to blood, and she collapsed.

Bakura twisted, but Diabound held him tight. Too tight. He couldn’t breathe. He heard his mother scream and he could see her through the open door. Her ka was out, flaming, and she was bringing as many guards down with her as she could.

His father didn’t even open his eyes as the knife slit his throat. He couldn’t. He hadn’t woken up in days. His mother screamed again, one of rage. Fire blazed in her eyes moments before it took her down, expanding, roaring. The guards, his father, his cousin, everyone was consumed by the flames except him. Diabound covered him entirely, squeezing, suffocating.

The fires faded too quickly, and the world of sand and stone became one of gold trapped in a giant pot. Robed figures stood around it, chanting. Bakura stood with them but they didn’t see him. The mould was on the alter – it took five people to lift the pot and pour the gold into it. Half of it trickled down the sides – half of the villagers who died for nothing. The gold turned red, and spirits lifted out of them. Faceless, wailing spirits. As the cover was placed on top of the mould, Bakura’s mother screamed again – from inside the gold.

Bakura’s eyes flashed open and he gasped for breath. He fumbled for his glasses and knocked something off the table, but he managed to get the glasses on his face. The fairy lights weren’t on, and the bed was empty. Malik wasn’t back from work yet.

Bakura coughed and rolled onto his side. Breathe. Breathe, fucking breathe! He couldn’t. He reached onto the bedside table for his inhaler, but it wasn’t where he had put it. It was getting harder to breathe. He scrambled for the inhaler. Where was it? _Where was it?_

He knocked a bottle of water off the dresser and it rolled under the bed. The book he had been reading fell onto the floor cover down. Nothing else was there. Shit!

He couldn’t see. His vision was blurring with tears. He tried not to let them fall, but his eyes overflowed. He was going to die. He wrenched the drawer open and tore his boxers and socks out. He couldn’t feel anything plastic. He tried to sit up, but ended up half rolling out of the bed. He landed on his back and it knocked the last of the air out of him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to die.

A door opened. “Bakura?” Malik called.

Bakura heaved for breath. If he could just talk.

“Bakura are you here?”

He could hear Malik’s footsteps getting closer. He wheezed and did his best to just make a noise. Any noise. He grabbed his book and hit it against the dresser. Malik opened the door. “Help-” Bakura managed to force out.

“Bakura!” Malik ran to him, rummaging through the things on the floor. He was speaking but Bakura could hardly hear, couldn’t see. Something plastic pressed against his lips and he sucked in the medicine sprayed into his mouth. One more spray, and the tightness eased.

Bakura coughed and panted for breath, reaching up to clutch Malik’s wrist. Malik reached under the bed and grabbed the bottle of water. “Drink this.” He opened it and held it to Bakura’s lips.

Bakura managed to take a sip. A few drops trickled down his neck. Malik lifted the bottle and Bakura coughed a few more times. “I’m okay,” he heaved. “I’m okay.”

“You’re a fucking idiot is what you are.”

That wasn’t right. Bakura used his wrist to wipe his eyes and he looked up at Malik. Tears stained his cheeks, still fresh, kohl smudged around his eyes. His mouth was set in a stubborn scowl even though his eyes were still wet.

This was someone else. “Which one are you?” Bakura asked.

“Amir.” Amir sniffed and wiped his cheeks. “Damn it. You could have fucking died, and then where would we be?”

“I wouldn’t have died.”

“You were about to pass out from lack of oxygen!” Amir wrenched away from him and stood up. He kicked off Malik’s heels and started pacing the bedroom. “Why the fuck were you even on the floor? Malik wouldn’t have even seen you if you hadn’t made noise.”

“I fell.” Bakura heaved himself up, using the bed for support. He sat with his back against the dresser. “I woke up and couldn’t find my inhaler.”

“No shit.” Amir shot him a glare. His eyes still looked glassy and wet. “Why were you in bed? It’s not even seven.”

“I was tired.” Bakura leaned his head back. He still was. He just seemed to have less and less energy recently.

Amir dropped onto the side of the bed and hid his face in his hands. “For fuck sake,” he whispered. “If Malik hadn’t come home, you could have fucking died.”

“So fucking sue me,” Bakura snapped. “I was tired and I wanted a motherfucking nap. I’m not just not going to sleep when no one else is in the house.”

Amir jolted up and whipped around to face Bakura. His eyes blazed like Bakura’s mother’s did. “Then take your meds!”

Bakura closed his eyes. “We’re not having this conversation,” he muttered. His voice was hoarse.

“Yes we fucking are.” Amir walked around the side of the bed to squat in front of Bakura. Bakura tried to stand up, but Amir held him by his shoulders. “If you would take your meds, you wouldn’t be so tired and overwhelmed all the time. You might actually get to sleep without having a nightmare. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then why-?”

“Because I don’t want to forget!” Bakura screamed. Amir stared at him. Heat dripped down Bakura’s cheeks and he swiped at them. “Fuck…” He sniffed. “I don’t want to forget what happened. I don’t want to forget their faces and if I stop having nightmares I might-” He shook his head. “I literally existed for revenge for more than three thousand years. Three thousand fucking _years_.” His upper lip curled. “You know how old I was? Five. I was fucking five when I watched my mother’s ka being destroyed and her dying with it. I was five when I saw my younger cousin get a spear thrown through her chest. I was five when I watched them slit my father’s throat like he wasn’t going to die within a few days anyway.” His eyes burned and he dug the palms of his hands into them, shoulders hunched. “I was five,” he whispered. “Their shades didn’t have their faces. I knew who was who for the most part but- but they didn’t-” Bakura tried to take a steady breath. He couldn’t have another attack. “I can only see their faces in my nightmares and if I stop having them, I- I mightn’t see them anymore.” He dug his palms deeper until stars exploded behind his eyelids.

He heard Amir sigh heavily, and the bed creaked. When he finally managed to open his eyes, Bakura saw Amir had climbed into the bed and curled up to one side with his chest facing Bakura. Malik had done the same thing in Battle City - so Bakura wasn’t near his back. He was on Malik’s phone, swiping furiously.

“What are you doing?” Bakura managed to ask. His voice sounded weak.

“What does it fucking look like?” Amir scowled at him. “Playing phone games until I pass out.”

Bakura snorted and climbed into the bed beside him. It was easier than functioning, and Amir didn’t complain. After an hour or so of playing in silence, Bakura had calmed down enough.

Amir spoke without looking up from the phone. “You won’t forget their faces.”

Bakura’s finger slid wrong across the screen and he lost the round. He frowned and hit replay. “You don’t know that.”

“You might have good dreams about them instead of nightmares.” Amir shrugged. “That’s better, right?” Bakura stayed silent. “Unless there’s something else.”

Bakura closed his eyes. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t Malik. That Amir was a whole entire other person and he wouldn’t react the same or give the same advice, and Bakura couldn’t treat him like Malik. He couldn’t just talk about all of his problems like that.

But Amir waited expectantly for him to speak, and eventually he did.

“I’ve been like this for years,” he muttered. “It feels safe.” He switched over to Instagram and began flicking through photos in his recommended section. Most of them were comics and he didn’t read them. “I know what it’s like to be depressed and have anxiety and shit but… I don’t know if I even remember a time when I didn’t other than in the Ring, and then I just…”

“Didn’t have anything?” Amir muttered. Bakura nodded. “The Rod did the same to us. Kek took the brunt of it.”

Bakura nodded. “I also had a fucking god controlling me and everything was just blank other than anger. So I know that the fucking pills will help but it’s also different and I don’t know what it’ll be like and that’s…” He took a slow breath. In for five, out for seven. “It scares me.”

Amir paused his game and lowered the phone. He examined Bakura for a moment, even though the other didn’t look up. “You owe it to yourself to try. And if you don’t like it, you can always come off them. Not like they’re a permanent thing.”

“I guess.” Bakura closed his eyes. “I’m just… tired of trying.”

“Then die.” Amir shrugged. “Because that’s what life is.”

“I didn’t ask to be brought back.”

“Don’t do that.” Amir pushed himself up to glare at Bakura. “Don’t fucking _do that_.”

“Do what?” Bakura returned the glare but he didn’t bother to sit up.

Amir shook his head, hair floating wild around his face. One side stuck up and the other was matted to the side of his head even though he’d only been lying down for an hour. “Don’t fucking act like your life is so fucking expendable! I don’t have my own fucking body - do you know what people would do to give people they miss the same chance you have? Do you know what Ryou did to give it to you?”

“I didn’t want it!” Bakura squeezed his eyes shut. “I wanted to move on!”

“You couldn’t without this chance.” Amir was still glaring at him. “You would have been trapped in the shadows forever. And now you’re back and you need to fucking take care of yourself like Malik’s finally learning to do.”

Bakura rolled over so his back was facing Amir. He stared at the wall. It was a dull cream colour. Malik hated it - he wanted to paint it, but neither of them had gotten around to getting paint samples yet. “I just want to stop existing in two places at once. I wasn’t twenty years in a body, and I was three thousand years in a piece of gold. I don’t _like_ it.”

“Yeah well.” Amir shrugged. Bakura heard blankets rustle. “I only started existing when Malik was seven and I haven’t fronted that much so-”

“It’s not the same.”

“I’m not saying it is.”

Bakura groaned and if he was certain that it wouldn’t cause an attack, he would have rolled onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow.

Amir was quiet for a moment. “If you can’t live for yourself just yet, live for other people.”

Bakura turned to face him again, frowning. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Amir met his gaze. His was tenser than Malik’s - as if he had to force himself to look people in the eye. “I mean the obvious goal is to live because you want to live, but if you can’t do that, then live because other people want you to live. Malik was so scared that you’d die when he saw you that I had to come out. Ryou would be devastated. You’re one of the few people Mai can talk to about her shit from what I know. And the others would care too. Seto if only because Ryou would care and they’d lose a good employee.”

Bakura snorted and rolled his eyes.

“But seriously. If you can’t live because you want to, live because everyone else in your life would hurt if you weren’t alive.”

Bakura’s chest tightened and he stared up at the ceiling. The fairy lights strung there looked like stars if he squinted hard enough.

Amir lay back down and returned to his game.

Bakura just stared at the ceiling until he eventually slipped into a dreamless sleep with the whispered words of a lullaby he had almost forgotten in his ears.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Bakura was the first to wake up the next morning. Malik was still curled up on his own, but he had shifted a little closer to Bakura in his sleep. Or was it still Amir?

Bakura closed his eyes for a minute, and then opened them again. He didn’t want to go back to sleep. Instead, he climbed out of the bed, slowly so as not to wake Malik, and crept out to the kitchen.

By the time Malik wandered out in his boxers and a dressing gown, Bakura already had breakfast cooking. Vegan pancakes, quorn bacon, some berries, and toast. The pancakes and bacon were in a casserole dish in the oven to stay warm, the berries were in a bowl on the table, and the toast was on. Bakura stood at the toaster with a knife in hand, ready to butter two pieces and spread the shitty almond butter for the other two.

Malik’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind and he rested his head on Bakura’s shoulder. “This smells amazing,” he murmured. “Special occasion?”

Bakura turned his head and pressed a kiss to Malik’s cheek. “Didn’t want you to grouch at me.” He smiled and placed his hand over Malik’s arm. “I’m… sorry for scaring you yesterday.”

Malik shook his head. “It’s not your fault.” He hesitated. “I don’t remember a lot. Did I- Did I switch with Nasir?”

Bakura shook his head. “A different alter this time. His name was Amir. He was fine though, he just played video games and he fell asleep at nine I think.”

Malik nodded slowly and kissed the side of Bakura’s shoulder. “Thank you.” The toast popped. Whether the thanks was for dealing with Amir or for telling Malik about him, Bakura didn’t entirely know. But it didn’t matter.

“You don’t need to thank me, love.” Bakura released his arm. “But would you get the dish out of the oven? I need to get drinks.”

“Sure.” Malik gave him a final squeeze and then released him to grab an oven glove.

Bakura took two plates down from the press and buttered the toast as Malik carried the dish to the table. On his way back, he took the plates from Bakura and stole a kiss. “I’ll get cutlery, will you get drinks?”

Bakura huffed but turned towards the glass press. “I already cooked you breakfast. I’m not your fucking maid.”

“You would look nice in a maid outfit.”

Bakura flipped Malik off over his shoulder and he used the counter to reach the press. He took two glasses down and then paused. The glass press had two shelves - the lower was for glasses and mugs, and the upper was for medicine. A small blue bag with a pharmacy logo and a white sticker sat at the front, propped up by the first aid kit.

**Sertraline 50mg. To be taken once (1) per day before or after food. Bakura Touzoku.**

Bakura reached up and grabbed the bag, bringing it down with him. He set it on the counter and filled the glasses with water before looking at it again. Sertraline. Fifty milligrams. He tore the bag open.

A thin box sat inside with a purple ribbon design. **Sertraline** beamed up at him again in black font. He took a slow breath, opened the box, and took out one strip. There were three strips and each one had eight tablets. He had already been through one, so if he got through those three, Takashi would prescribe him more - if he wanted more.

This wasn’t a permanent thing.

He popped one of the tablets out of the foil packaging. It was small, oval, and chalky white.

Malik’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind again and he kissed the back of Bakura’s neck. “Everything alright, honey?” He asked. His voice was soft.

Bakura closed his eyes. If you can’t live for yourself, live for people you care about. He dropped the pill into his mouth and took a sip of water to swallow it with. Then he packed the box again and left the bag on the windowsill before he turned to face Malik and answer him.

Malik just looked concerned, eyes flicking back to the bag.

To ease his worry, Bakura leaned up and stole that kiss back. “I’m good,” he assured his partner. “Just realised that I have a lot more to live for than to die for.”

Malik’s eyes brightened, and he pulled Bakura back for another kiss. He cupped Bakura’s face and smoothed over his scar with his thumb. Bakura smiled so broadly that it broke the kiss.

Neither Malik nor the meds would cure him or teach him to love himself, and neither could anyone else, but they could all help build the bridge that would get him there.

“Come on. We should eat before it gets cold. I didn’t work my ass off on it for nothing.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought and I hope to see you again!


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